by Kate Stacy
Camille comes around the desk and I pull her between my legs. Looking up at her, I ask, “Not that I’m not happy to see you, but what brings you by?”
“I brought lunch. Thought you might be hungry.”
My eyes travel the length of her body and suddenly, I’m ravenous.
“I could eat.”
Ignoring my obvious innuendo, she turns, setting a bag down on the desk. Now her delectable ass is right in my face. Grabbing hold of her hips, I groan. It takes everything I’ve got not to sink my teeth into one of her plump cheeks.
“Are you teasing me on purpose, Gorgeous? I’ve half a mind to fuck you right here over the desk.”
She shivers. I haven’t forgotten how much a few dirty words can affect her.
Weeks. For fucking weeks she’s been driving me out of my mind. I’ve been waiting for the green light from her, but I don’t know how much more I can take. It’s like she has no idea what she does to me. She’s oblivious to the way she drives me wild.
“As good as that sounds…” I straighten at her words. “We need to talk.”
Fuck. Instant mood killer.
Those words rarely mean anything good.
“Sit down, start eating, and we’ll talk.”
No matter what she has to say, I still need to make sure she eats, and I’ve caught on to the way she doesn’t eat when something is bothering her. She doesn’t argue, pulling sandwiches from the bag before getting comfortable in the chair on the other side of the desk.
I hate the distance between us, but I do nothing to lessen it. She has something to say, so I take a bite of the grilled chicken sandwich she brought for me and wait her out.
“I was wondering if your offer is still open.”
Now she really has my attention.
“The offer to move in with you,” she clarifies.
I swear my heart skips a beat. I can’t believe she’s asking about this, but I try to hide my surprise. I probably shouldn’t get my hopes up until I’m sure of which direction this conversation is going, but the rapid thumping of my heartbeat tells me it’s too late for that. I’m already hoping.
“Absolutely.”
She nods, but I barely notice. My eyes are drawn to her hands. She’s fidgeting, fingers moving restlessly against her thighs. She’s nervous. Why?
“What’s going on, Camille?”
Her eyes meet mine. “Why don’t you ever call me Cami?”
I don’t know if she’s avoiding my question or if hers has something to do with the answer. Either way, I tell her what she wants to know.
“Because everyone else does.”
Her eyes close and she breathes out a sigh.
I’m not sure what to make of her question, or her reaction. I’m left more confused, more eager to find out what really brought her here today.
“I want to move in with you.”
She opens her eyes and I’m not sure I like whatever it is I’m seeing in her glassy green pools.
“I’m happy to hear it, and we can make it happen whenever you’re ready.” I hesitate, not wanting to ruin this by asking the wrong question, but my curiosity wins out. “Can I ask...why the change of heart? I mean, I’m thrilled you want to move in, but I thought it was too soon for you?”
I’m not trying to put her on the spot. I know it’s exactly what I’m doing, but it’s not really what I want. I’m just trying to understand. This is the last thing I expected when she came here to talk. I need to know why. My gut is screaming at me right now, instincts telling me that there’s more to this than she’s telling me.
“God. So many reasons.”
“Name a few.”
“I want to be able to see you—and Hannah—more. I’m tired of being alone all the time. My sister’s never home, and everyone’s busy with their own lives…”
There’s more. I know there’s more. Her hesitation makes it obvious she doesn’t want to tell me, but I need it all. I need the full truth.
I reach across the desk and place my hand over hers, gently caressing the inner part of her wrist with my thumb. And I wait.
“I’m scared, Ryan.”
Okay. What the fuck?
My eyes narrow, muscles tighten, entire body immediately on guard.
“Why are you scared? What’s going on?” I ask, careful to keep my voice calm.
Without speaking, she pulls her hand from underneath mine and reaches into her purse. She pulls her phone out first, followed by a small white envelope, and a rose.
What the hell is going on?
“Camille?”
“Just...here.”
She unlocks her phone, taps the screen a few times, and hands it to me. I don’t take it at first, but she pushes it toward me again. I take it from her hand and lower my eyes from hers to the screen.
Her text messages. Why is she…
Fuck!
My eyes jump back to hers.
“Keep reading. Check the call log, too.”
I do as she says, swiping through tons of texts, seeing weeks of messages, numerous unknown calls.
I look at her again. The stress and worry on her face guts me. My gaze drifts to the other items she pulled from her bag.
“And these?”
She nods.
Picking up the envelope, I slip a small scrap of paper from inside. I read the words written. One breath later, I lose my calm composure.
I drop the paper, slamming my fist against the desk as I stand, my chair slams back, crashing against the wall.
“Son of a bitch!”
Startled, Camille’s whole body jerks in her seat. It’s enough to calm the rage boiling inside of me.
“Fuck!” I run my hand roughly through my hair. “I’m sorry, baby.”
She says nothing. She won’t even look at me and I know I’ve fucked up. She admitted her fear and I’ve only made it worse by losing control.
I move slowly around the desk and squat down next to her chair.
“Camille,” I say in a low, soothing voice, “look at me. Please.” I wait patiently until her eyes flit to mine. “I’m sorry. I’m not mad at you. I’m just...frustrated at the situation, pissed at whoever this asshole is that thinks he has the right to fuck with you.”
Biting her lower lip, she nods. A single tear rolls down her cheek.
I feel like a complete prick.
“Fuck, baby. Please don’t cry.”
She doesn’t resist as I pull her against me. She nestles close to my chest and lets her tears free. Holding her, I murmur words of comfort until her tears slow.
“You ready to talk about this?”
I wish we could ignore it, but that’s not an option. I need to figure out who’s harassing her. I need to know so I can find them and make them stop. So I can make sure she and my babies are safe.
There’s no other option.
Without much hesitation, Camille agrees to file an official report. Without knowing who’s sending the messages, it’ll be hard to make a case, but it’ll allow us to open an official investigation and find the person responsible. She was smart not to delete all the text messages or clear her call log. We still need to pull her phone records, but it makes our job much easier when we have something to work with while we wait for the hard copies.
We move to the single interview room in our small station, where Morris joins us. Camille’s case is personal to me. As much as I want to find this jackass and beat him within an inch of his life for fucking with my girl, I have to do things by the book. I worked hard for this badge—I won’t abuse it.
With Camille’s permission, we record her interview.
She told me the basics, a vague overview of everything that’s happened. Morris leads the interview, keeping me separate to an extent, knowing me well enough by now to know that I’m angry and on edge. It doesn’t make a difference. Hearing her answers, the fear and frustration in her voice almost sets me off again. The on
ly thing keeping me from losing my shit is my determination not to scare her again. I never want to see another look of fear on her face because of me.
I hold it all in. Every ounce of anger and rage.
My hands tremble.
My muscles tense.
My heart beats like a goddamn war drum.
I’m gonna find this motherfucker and he’ll regret ever thinking so much as Camille’s name.
I don’t have to play dirty. I’ll take his ass down legally and make sure the judge throws the fucking book at him. No one should have to deal with this kind of unwanted attention, but this guy...he chose the wrong girl. My girl. He’ll pay deeply for his choice.
As Camille finishes answering the last question, my eyes meet those of my partner. His fury matches my own. He dips his chin, just so, and I know we’re on the same page. He’s had my back since my first day as a Blackwood Police officer, today is no different. Today it’s personal. He’s invested, not only because of my relationship with Camille, but because of his history with her family.
Official interview concluded, Morris turns off the recorder.
Quickly rounding the table, I make the switch from police officer to boyfriend. Camille needs my comfort more than anything right now. The interview took a toll on her emotionally. As much as I hate it, we’re not done. The interview was only the beginning.
Camille is being harassed. Stalked, if the latest communication is any indication.
What started as seemingly harmless text messages has become something more. The rose is a step up. Her stalker is escalating. Not by much, but enough for it to be a viable threat. Camille ignoring his messages set him off. If she continues to ignore him, who knows what he’ll do next.
Carefully helping her stand, I take her place in the chair and pull her down into my lap. She tries to argue, but I’m not hearing it. I know what Morris is going to address next and Camille isn’t going to like it one bit.
“We’re done with the interview, Camille, but there are a couple other things I want to discuss with you before you leave.” Morris speaks calmly, but there’s tension mounted behind his words.
“You okay with that, Gorgeous?” I murmur in her ear.
She tangles her fingers with mine, squeezing lightly as she nods her consent.
“I know this has been hard on you but filing a police report is the best thing you can do. In cases like this, sooner is always better. You’ve responded well to the situation by not responding to the messages you’ve been receiving. It’s important that you don’t give this person any indication that you welcome the attention. Keep doing exactly what you’ve been doing and let Ryan or myself know when there’s any type of contact, especially if it’s something physical. If you get another note like today, try not to touch it. If we’re lucky, we’ll be able to get some prints that could help us identify who’s doing this.”
“I’ll just call Ryan if I see something like that again.”
Camille putting her trust in me means everything. I tighten my hold on her, grateful she feels safe with me.
“Good. That’s really good.” Morris is doing a hell of a lot better with this than I would have. “We’re gonna do what we can to find this guy and put a stop to the harassment. In the meantime, there’s plenty you can do to keep yourself safe. He hasn’t made any direct contact with you, but we don’t know that he won’t. Try not to go out alone. If you do, pay attention to your surroundings and trust your gut. If something doesn’t feel right, listen to what your instincts are telling you. Get somewhere you feel safe. Now, you said you haven’t told anyone else about this?”
“Not until today. I told my best friend before I came here, but that’s it.”
“Okay.” He pauses.
I know what’s coming next and I’m not sure how Camille is going to react.
“You may not want to, but I recommend telling those close to you about your situation. Family, friends, co-workers. Anyone who may be around you for the foreseeable future, until we catch this guy.”
I can’t see her face, but her entire body tenses.
“People knowing what’s going on can only help you, Camille. Safety, support, comfort. All of these are important, even more so because you’re pregnant. Having as many people looking out for you as possible can make a big difference.”
“Okay,” she whispers.
She’s had enough. The look Morris gives me tells me that he knows it, too.
“I’m gonna get you a copy of the report and get your friend’s information from you like we talked about earlier. After that, you’re free to go home. Any questions for me?”
“No.”
I don’t like how quiet she’s gotten.
Knowing that when she leaves here, she’ll be alone has me concerned. I still have hours on my shift, but I can’t ask her to stay here all night. Hopefully, I can convince her to head to my house. Adam and Hannah are home. I bet Hannah can take her mind off this, at least temporarily.
Morris stands, heading for the door. He stops when it’s open.
“Oh, and Camille?” He waits for her to meet his eyes before continuing. “I know Ryan’s got you, but I’m here for you anytime. Day or night. You aren’t alone in this.”
Her hand moves to cover her mouth as she nods rapidly.
Thank you, I mouth to my partner. He dips his head and closes the door behind him.
Camille turns to the side on my lap, buries her face in my neck, and bursts into tears.
I hold onto her tightly, providing her with safety and comfort in the only way I can right now.
“I’ve got you, baby.” I murmur, pressing my lips to her forehead.
It’s a promise.
TWENTY-THREE
Camille
“And we’re done!” Macy says, plopping down on the couch next to me.
“You sure you got everything?” Ryan asks from his position at the front door.
“We got everything we could find.” A sly grin crosses my best friend’s face as Ryan adjusts the heavy box in his arms and makes his way out the door. “Although, it seems some things have mysteriously vanished without a trace.”
“What are you talking about?” I ask.
“Your sister and I packed your whole room. We checked every nook and cranny to make sure we didn’t miss anything, but not a single toy was to be found. Anywhere. No vibrator. No dildo. No magic bullets or vibrating egg—”
Eyes wide, I slap my hand over her mouth. “Could you say that shit any louder, Macy? What the hell?”
I look over my shoulder to make sure none of the guys have come back into the apartment. Eyes gleaming, Macy giggles behind my palm before licking it.
“Ugh!” I shoot her a glare, wiping my palm on her thigh. It’s her saliva, it can go on her clothes.
“Did you already pack them or something? Hide them in your purse? Get rid of them? C’mon. Where are they?”
Shrugging, I answer her question with my own. “What’s your fascination with my toys?”
I don’t tell her that I have none. Never have.
But that’s not her business.
She may be my best friend, but I don’t tell her everything. Some things are mine to keep.
Like the fact that I had zero interest in having sex again until the night I spent with Ryan.
And the fact that being with him now makes me want a repeat. Badly.
“Cami. I’m not obsessed with your toys.”
“Keep your voice down!” I whisper harshly.
Rolling her eyes, she lowers her volume. “I’m only curious about the lack of toys in your room. What kind of woman doesn’t have at least one vibrator? Hell, with your lack of dating, I assumed you’d have a whole arsenal for personal pleasure!”
“Oh, Lord.” I palm my face, breathing out a heavy breath. “Tell me why we’re friends again.”
She grins, and I’m afraid of what will leave her mouth next.
&
nbsp; “No, Macy. We are not talking about this right now!”
Or ever. But I leave those words unspoken.
Thankfully, I’m saved when my brother walks through the open door.
After filing the police report on Friday, Ryan wasted no time arranging my move into his house. He apparently formed a game plan and I was none the wiser. He showed up to my apartment at eight o’clock this morning, bringing a whole crew with him. Macy and Presley (who was actually home for a change) to pack up my things. Adam, Holden, and Jackson to do the heavy lifting.
I was told to park my ass somewhere comfortable and do absolutely nothing.
For once, I did exactly what I was told.
I could have argued, could have insisted that I’m perfectly capable of packing my own belongings, but honestly, I’m happy I don’t have to. Day by day, this pregnancy makes even the simplest things more difficult and I’m tired. My feet hurt. My lower back hurts. My stomach is getting huge. I’ve lost count on how many times I’ve bumped into something because my baby belly sticks out so far.
I have a group of people who want to help me and I’m letting them.
It’s easier than I thought it would be if I’m being honest. I’m used to doing everything myself, relying only on me. My struggles with putting my trust in other people have made it hard for me to accept help, or even ask for it. I normally don’t, which is why I still haven’t told my family about the person harassing me. Stalking me. Whatever.
I spent years closed off from my loved ones. They don’t know me. Not really. In their eyes, I’ve always been the energetic, outgoing, take-no-shit kinda girl. What they see is only skin deep. Beneath the surface I’m just a scared, confused girl, full of insecurities and hidden truths. Opening up about this makes me vulnerable, and that’s not something I ever want to be again. I especially don’t want my family to see me that way.
“I think this is the last of it,” Jaxson says, following the rest of the guys out the door.
“Wrong,” Presley says, snickering as she comes out of the bathroom with another small box and a couple of tote bags. She drops them near the door and joins me and Macy in the living room. “They haven’t seen the stack of boxes in the spare room. You sure you wanna move out?”
