“Wait here, sir,” the officer said as he walked toward Mrs. Harvish’s house and knocked on the door.
The neighbors started to filter out of their front doors to see what was going on. The officer walked around the perimeter of the house, peering into the windows. Passing one window, with its curtain slightly ajar, he paused, then pulled his radio close to his mouth and spoke into it.
I couldn’t hear what he said, but by the look on his face, I knew it wasn’t good. He walked toward me, shaking his head. I knew what that meant. I turned toward the upstairs window, where I knew Kenzi was probably watching, and copied the officer’s gesture.
Her mouth gaped, before she covered it with her hands.
“Good thing you called,” the officer said.
“What happened?”
“There’s a lot of blood. I mean a lot of blood,” he said, looking back toward the house.
“Shit. She was murdered?”
He shook his head and patted my shoulder as he started for the back of his car. He took out a roll of yellow caution tape and cordoned off a large area in front of her house.
The neighbors chattered amongst themselves in their soft plush robes and sea of hair curlers. I walked back into the house, where Kenzi was already waiting, pacing in the foyer.
“What the hell happened?” she asked the moment the door opened.
“All he said was that there was a lot of blood.”
“What does that mean?”
“I think we both know what it means,” I said, walking past her to sit on the stairs.
“This place—” she said, crossing her arms and shaking her head.
“What?”
“Everyone told me I was crazy to be scared of the world. Look how many people on this street alone have been murdered—insane!”
The ambulance sirens wailed as they neared the scene.
“I can’t believe she’s dead,” she said.
A knock came at the door.
I got up from the stairs to open it. “How can I help you, Officer?”
“We’re taking Mrs. Harvish to the morgue. It was a pretty brutal crime scene. The detective will be here in a few minutes to discuss the situation with you,” the officer said.
“Okay, thank you. We’ll be here,” I said as I started to close the door.
“Wait, who’s coming? Who’s the detective?” Kenzi asked, pushing me out of the way.
“It’s Detective Bidwell,” the officer replied.
Kenzi’s arms fell to her side as she shook her head at me.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing.”
“It’s obviously not nothing.”
“These murders, these break-ins—all of it—it’s all too much,” she said, throwing her hands in the air in defeat.
I didn’t reply.
Kenzi
A short time later, another knock sounded through the house.
I reached for the door. “Detective Bidwell.”
“Ms. St. Claire,” he said, taking off his hat.
“Kenzi.”
“Yes. I’m sorry,” he replied, reaching out his hand to shake Zander’s hand.
Zander took his hand. “Sir.”
“So, what happened?” Detective Bidwell asked, exhaling as he pulled out his notepad.
“Zander noticed that her curtain had been drawn for a while, and that we hadn’t seen her. It was unusual, so he decided to call,” I replied.
“Funny how all these things have been happening since you got on the scene,” Detective Bidwell said, looking at Zander.
Zander’s eyes seemed to turn red. “What the hell are you trying to say?”
“I’m not saying anything. Do you have something to tell me?” Detective Bidwell raised his voice.
I stepped in between them. “Boys, boys. Let’s focus on the real situation. There is a woman who is dead.”
“You’re right, Kenzi,” Detective Bidwell agreed.
“So, do you know how she was murdered?” I asked nervously, but I don’t think I really wanted to know the answer.
“Well, her throat was slashed,” Detective Bidwell shook his head.
“How does this keep happening under your watch?” Zander asked.
“How the hell does it keep happening on yours?” the detective asked.
“Stop fighting!” I yelled.
They both turned to me.
“There is a dead woman out there. Why don’t you go figure it out?” I said angrily to the detective.
“That’s exactly what I intend to do, ma’am,” he said, shifting his gaze back to Zander.
“I don’t like what you’re trying to imply,” Zander said, narrowing his eyes.
“You don’t have to like anything. I’m doing my job, and there seems to be a whole lot going on ever since you got here,” the detective replied.
“Fuck! Get out of my house, Detective. I don’t appreciate you accusing Zander of murder after he performed his civic duty and called you. Maybe if you did a better job protecting people then maybe my parents would still be here,” I shouted with all the anger two years of solitude had built up.
Detective Bidwell put on his fedora. Tipping it down, he said, “Don’t leave town.”
“Pfft!” Zander huffed.
The detective turned and walked out of the door toward the crime scene. We stood there and watched for what seemed like hours, until they finally wheeled the black body bag out of the house and loaded it into the coroner’s van. The whole scene reminded me of the aftermath of my parents’ murder, which brought tears to my still shocked eyes.
Zander laid his hand on my shoulders. “It’s going to be okay. I’ll keep you safe.”
“So I’ll be safe tonight—what about the rest of my life?”
Day Two
I woke up with the sun in my face. Not the moon shining through my window, not the floor beneath my hip, and certainly not a gushing waterfall of sweat cascading down my forehead.
Did I just sleep through the night?
Enjoying the warmth of the sun washing over my back, I yawned and rubbed my eyes, but was suddenly startled by a small nudge on the small of my back.
“What the hell!” I yelled, whipping around to see what had caused the feeling.
My eyes must have been deceiving me. It was Zander. “What are you doing in here?” I asked, jostling him from side to side.
“Huh?” Zander’s voice cracked as his lids fluttered open.
“What are you doing in here?” I asked, pointing at the bed. “And not in there?” Pointing to his assigned guest room.
“You were screaming last night. Don’t you remember?” he said, turning to face me with an earnest look on his face.
I shook my head. “No, I don’t remember.”
“I ran in here and tried to wake you up. But you wouldn’t stop screaming and trying to punch me, so I put my arms around you and held you ’til you fell back asleep,” he explained as he shifted a tress of hair from my face.
“So we didn’t do anything?”
“No, I was a perfect gentleman all night.”
I paused to ponder his reply. “Too bad,” I said, rolling out of bed.
He reached out for me, almost catching me in time, but I was too fast. “Hey, come back here. What do you mean, too bad?”
I giggled as I opened my closet doors to look for an outfit. “You know what I mean.”
“Well, it’s still technically night in Japan,” he adamantly pled his case.
I grabbed an outfit and walked over to the bathroom to brush my teeth.
Before I walked through the door, I turned to say, “Not buying it, sir.”
With a groan, he fell back onto the pillow and laid his hands over his eyes. A few minutes later, he walked into the bathroom as I was brushing my teeth, still dressed in his jeans and t-shirt from the night before. Pressing his hard stomach against my back, he wrapped his well-toned arms around my waist.
“So, what did you wanna d
o today?” he asked, kissing my cheek.
I couldn’t say anything with a mouthful of toothpaste foam and my power toothbrush buzzing, so I just gurgled something incoherent as I bent down to rinse.
“What?” he asked.
“There isn’t much to do around the house except lounge around,” I said as I spun around, wiping the water from my mouth.
He inched closer, causing me to lean back onto the marble countertop, white-knuckling the edge to keep my balance.
His lips hovered over mine as he placed his hands on the counter for support. He leaned into me farther, like a lion inhaling its prey.
“So, you don’t want to leave this house with me?”
“No, of course not. I would never, especially after what happened last night.” I shook my head slightly, wondering why he would ask me such a question.
He knew why I wouldn’t leave, since we already had that fight.
“Even after feeling safe enough in my arms to go back to sleep last night—” he paused then pushed himself off of me.
Taking one last look, he walked out of the bathroom shaking his head.
“Where are you going?” I called out from inside the bathroom.
“I don’t have time to play your little games, Kenzi. You either want to move forward in life, or you don’t.”
“Why do you assume I don’t want to move forward? There was a fucking murder across the street last night. If that’s not a sign that outside is not an okay place, then I don’t know what is!” I stated, pursuing him out of the bathroom, through the bedroom, and out into the hallway.
He turned to me. “So is this it for you? This house? These four walls?”
“What are you talkin’ about?”
“I took the job knowing that you had a few broken pieces. I knew you needed help, and I was willing, but I didn’t expect all this.”
“All what?” I asked, inching toward him.
“I understand you have unresolved issues ’cause of your parents. I even understand that your neighbor might be crazy and you’re afraid of him. But what I don’t get is how you can continue to act like what you’re doing to yourself by staying in this house doesn’t affect you or anyone else in your life.” He backed away.
“How does it affect me, except to keep me safe?” I asked as the anxiety began to well up in me.
I knew what was coming. I knew he was going to try to get me to leave the house.
“How am I supposed to take you on a date? Is this house more important to you than a life outside—a life outside with me?” he asked, turning his head toward the end of the hall and away from me.
“I hadn’t thought that far out.”
“I expect you to understand that no matter what you do, you can’t keep what is meant to happen from happening. Take last night, for example. You were in your house and your crazy neighbor broke in. How is this house keeping you safe?” He raised his voice, the vein in his neck slightly bulging.
I didn’t reply. What was there to say? After all, he had a point. Inside or out, I wasn’t safe. He sighed and turned toward the end of the hall. “I’ll let Clay know you need to be assigned a new bodyguard. Goodbye, Kenzi.”
I watched him walk away, disappearing midway down the staircase as it curved toward the foyer.
A few moments later I heard him say, “Hello. Yes, I’ll be coming in today—I’ll be right there.”
The door creaked open and slammed a few seconds later. Quiet fell over the house as the overwhelming feeling of loneliness once again washed over me. I crossed my arms and looked around the empty rooms, unable to believe he had just walked out on me.
What does he want me to do?
Walking over to the hall window, next to my bedroom door, I shifted the silk curtains out of the way. Looking down at the driveway, I saw him standing next to the driver’s door slipping his boots on. He looked up at me as though he felt my gaze laser focused on him, pausing for a moment before he stood and jumped into the truck.
He sat there for a moment, seeming to be deep in thought when he took one last look at me then started the engine. I let go of the curtain and walked to my room to sleep off the rest of the day. I didn’t want to stay up to think about the confluence of misunderstandings and unmet expectations that had taken place right outside my bedroom door in the span of ten minutes.
I pulled up the crumpled covers and slid in between them and the cold sheets, which were almost soothing after the intense fight we just had. Staring at the closet doors, I remembered the intense fear I felt while I hid, cowering.
Maybe Ty hadn’t done it? Maybe I was imagining the whole thing? Or what if the detective was right? Nothing started happening until Zander showed up.
After all, Detective Bidwell was a seasoned officer of the law, and if anyone knew what he was doing, I’m sure he did, and I would just have to trust that. My eyes began to close, and before I knew it, I had drifted off to sleep again.
Cheater, Cheater
My ears perked up when the sound of someone knocking on the door woke me from my nap.
“Zander,” I mumbled as I shot up from bed.
I threw the covers off and ran to the bathroom, popping off the top to the mouthwash, and gargling as fast as I could. My hair was kind of messy, since I hadn’t taken a straightener to it in days, so I tried to tousle the roots to plump it up into a sexier version of itself. It wasn’t working. In defeat, my shoulders slumped as I took one last look in the mirror before turning to head downstairs.
Hopefully the fact I was ready to apologize for any misunderstandings and promise him I would try harder to move forward, would help negate any negative feelings he was having for me.
My feet moved swiftly underneath me. I think they were more excited than I was to get to the door. The large shadow standing behind the frosted glass awakened the giddy school girl within me. Even though it had only been a short while, I had already started to miss him. Reaching out to turn the knob, I swung the door open, but what I found on the other side caused the grin on my face to quickly turn itself upside down.
My heart sank into my stomach. “Ty—what are you—”
“Hey, Kenzi. I brought lunch,” he said, holding up a wicker basket.
“I, uh—” I stuttered, completely unable to form a coherent sentence. “I don’t want any company right now.”
“Surely you don’t want to be alone after last night?”
“I just got into it with Zander, and I—”
“I knew that guy was an asshole.”
“He isn’t—”
“Kenzi, I’ve been your neighbor for years—you know me,” he said, laying his hand on his chest. “You know I wouldn’t dream of hurting you.” He smiled sincerely.
“Do I really know that, Ty?”
“Honestly, Kenzi, the only person I saw last night was my PR manager. She was with me all night going over new contracts for some endorsements I’ve been offered for next season. I swear!” he said, crossing his heart with his finger. “Scout’s honor.”
“When were you ever a scout?” I asked as he interrupted me by pulling out his phone.
“Here—call her—her name is Belinda Morgan, but her friends call her Layla—don’t ask. You’d like her; she’s a spitfire of a woman.” He grinned as he dialed a number then handed me the phone.
I could hear the phone ringing from where I stood and the sound of a woman’s voice say. “Hello?”
I pushed the phone back toward him and shook my head. “It’s fine, I don’t need to speak to her.”
He hung up the phone and slipped it back into his pocket. “Well, then—let’s have lunch,” he said as he stepped through the gap of the opened door. “Where do you want me to set this up?” he asked with a grin on his face.
My mother’s voice wafted through my head. He offered you proof he didn’t do it—don’t be rude.
She was right, he did just offer proof. I pored over his body language, looking for anything that would alert me to dang
er, but nothing jumped out at me. “Please come in,” I offered reluctantly.
“Thank you, pretty lady,” he flirted as he brushed by me, the smell of his cologne lingering just long enough to make me forget my fear.
I motioned to the living room as I leaned against the door to close it.
I followed him. “Here, let me take that for you,” I said, reaching out my hands to accept the basket. “Would you like something to drink?”
He nodded. “I would. Thank you.”
“Well, I have water, soda—wine maybe?” I presented my best hostess façade while deep inside, I cowered like an antelope in the clutches of a cheetah.
What is he doing here?
“Wine would be great. White, if you have it.”
I nodded and turned toward the kitchen to set down the basket and get him wine. “I must say, I’m sorta surprised that you’re here,” I hollered from inside the kitchen, trying to gauge his response.
“And why is that?” he hollered back.
“Well, I thought you had already spoken with Zander and—” before I could finish, I could feel his presence behind me, his breath wafting down my neck, sending shivers down my spine.
“And what?” he whispered, not one inch from my ear.
I steadied my trembling hand as I finished pouring the wine, the rest of my body too paralyzed to move.
He must be here to confront me about Detective Bidwell.
I pondered his real motives as I placed the bottle on the counter and picked up the wine glass to hand to him.
I turned around to find him towering over me. “Here you go,” I said, looking up at his strong jawline.
He leaned in, pressing his body against mine, the bulge a few inches below his belt buckle making me acutely aware of his intentions. Having never been this close to him before, I could feel what all the other women he brought home on a nightly basis felt. There was a certain charm about him and, as scared as I was, there was a pull I couldn’t deny.
He took a slow sip of the wine then smiled. “Great choice. Aren’t you going to have a glass?”
“No, I’m not a big drinker,” I said, completely lying through my teeth. Honestly, I would have rather had a few glasses of scotch or whiskey over a tame glass of wine.
The Enemy Inside (The Captive Series Book 1) Page 8
