Deadly Obsession

by Jaycee Clark

  "Just-just weird. You know, midnight creepy phone calls. He was calling a lot." Her shoulders lifted on a shrug. "And tonight he left me a present. Gabe came over and took the thing."

  "A present?" Brayden asked. He waited, but she didn’t elaborate. Distance be damned. His heels clicked softly on the floor as he crossed to her. Her bent head rose when he stopped in front of her. He placed his hands palm down on either side of her, trapping her against the counter. "Some wacko is calling you, leaving you gifts and you don’t tell me?"

  She hadn’t said a damn word.

  Her indrawn breath was ragged, and she looked away from him. If she would just...

  "No, I didn’t. It’s not that big a deal. That’s all. I’m a big girl now. I don’t need to rely on you or your family for every little thing. Some things I have to do alone," she whispered.

  "What the hell are you talking about? This has nothing to do with me or ‘my’ family, which is yours too, by the way. I’m talking about us."

  Us. There, he’d said it. Us.

  "What about it all being a mistake?" she asked softly.

  Brayden sighed. "I don’t know. But..." Truth or lie?

  "But?"

  Tonight he’d been terrified some rapist had knocked on her door and had all but murdered her. He hadn’t been this scared since Tori and Ryan had been kidnapped.

  Truth.

  "I miss you."

  Her head jerked up and her smoky eyes met his. Disbelief and hope reflected in them. Or did he just imagine the hope?

  "I miss you," he repeated.

  "Oh." Her eyes darted away. The floral scent of her shampoo drifted up between them, reminding him of the night he hadn’t been able to forget.

  Christian, the night they’d shared, was like the tide against the rocks. It was constant and wearing--at the edge of his mind during the day, pounding at him during the night. He’d been stupid and the lying coward she’d called him. He missed her, and he was afraid he was losing her. Losing whatever connection they’d always seemed to have.

  To hell with this.

  Brayden took a chance. He reached up and cupped her face.

  "I’m sorry," he said.

  "For what?" Her brow furrowed.

  Brayden bit down. "For being stupid. For pushing you away. You were right, I’m an ass. I’m not like....

  I can’t always say.... Hell."

  The frown between her brows deepened.

  Sighing, he tried again. "I was wrong, that morning. I was wrong. You were right."

  Her eyes searched his and he wondered what they saw. And still, she didn’t say anything.

  "I miss you." God did he miss her. The smell of her, her smile, her laugh.

  That smoky gaze narrowed before she slid her eyes closed.

  Please don’t let it be too late. Brayden leaned closer, stretched his hand around to lose his fingers in the short hair at her nape and noticed it had grown since the last time he’d held her so. He grazed the curve of her ear with his thumb, felt her pulse bounce in her neck.

  He lowered his mouth to hers. Her lips, her skin was as soft as he remembered. Slowly, he traced her mouth with his tongue, daring her to kiss him back, hoping she would. On a trembling sigh, she opened her mouth. Brayden pulled her close, held her tight as he deepened the kiss. She tasted just as sweet as he remembered like a dark forbidden fruit. The kiss lengthened, deepened and she twined her arms around his neck. Her curves pressed against him, and images from a night spent in her arms flashed unbidden in his mind. He knew the paleness of her breasts, the way her skin dipped near her hipbone, the mole on the right buttock cheek. The way she kissed, tasted, smelled. All the memories slammed into him and Brayden wondered absently what the hell he’d been thinking to turn her away before.

  Just as he tilted his head, her hands came up and pushed against his shoulders. She broke the kiss. "We can’t do this." Her eyes looked at his mouth.

  "Why?" He held her in the loose circle of his arms. She fit perfectly. She took a deep breath and he rested his forehead against hers.

  "There’s just-there’s just... There’s too much going on right now." Her whispered words warmed against his mouth.

  "Like what?"

  The silence between them stretched. Why wouldn’t she open up?

  "Talk. To. Me. We’ve always talked about everything."

  And they damn well would again. Then, another thought occurred to him. She’d broken the kiss. She’d pulled away, pushed him away.

  Brayden straightened and stepped back, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Is there something between you and Morris?" His breath huffed out. Not that he had anyone to blame but himself if there were. The thought tightened his gut.

  She shook her head. "No. Gabe’s just a friend."

  A friend? A friend that came over in the middle of the night? So if that wasn’t it, then what? She wouldn’t meet his eyes, always darting away. Nervous and scared.

  "I don’t know what is going on with you, but I wish to hell you’d tell me. And it’s not just me that’s noticed. Is it this wacko calling? Who the hell is he? Do you know him? What damn gift did he leave you?" Brayden paced away from her and turned back.

  Christian bent down and picked up the pieces of the phone.

  "If that’s the only damn phone you have, I’ll get you two more." Then she could answer it in whatever part of the condo she was in.

  "No, there’s one upstairs, but I keep the ringer turned off."

  He grunted. "Mom and Dad want to know what the deal is with you. They all blame me for it, and they’re right. Tori wants to know when you’re coming home and Jesslyn and Taylor treat me like Iago or something and--"

  "This has nothing to do with you." Her words jerked him back. He stared at her across her kitchen.

  Why? Why couldn’t he get past her walls? Get even a glimpse inside her fortress? Her words hurt more than he would have thought. Not have anything to do with him?

  "Do you still mean the words you said to me?" he asked, though he hadn’t meant to.

  "What words?" She dumped the shattered plastic and wires of the broken phone in the trash.

  "That night. The next morning." I love you. Had she meant it?

  She paused, and though her back was to him, she stiffened. "I’m not answering that. I’m not talking about that."

  Brayden cursed, his worry turning to a simmering anger. "You’re not talking much about anything these days are you?"

  When she turned to face him, his breath caught. Her eyes were haunted pools of pain.

  "Talk to me," he said yet again, slapping his hand on the counter. "Tell me what the hell is going on with you. I can’t stand to see you this way."

  She shook her head, but her eyes filled and tears fell over her cheeks.

  Brayden couldn’t handle her crying. He walked to her and pulled her to him.

  "Ah, Chris, don’t. Don’t. Come on, baby, tell me. Talk to me. I’ll help you. Whatever’s going on, I’ll fix it." Or he’d find a way to.

  "I-I can’t."

  He slid his eyes closed and pulled back, cupping her face in his hands. "You mean, you won’t."

  Even as he reached up to wipe the silvery trail of tears away, she shook her head.

  Brayden didn’t know if he wanted to kiss her or shake her.

  "I think-I think you should go," she told him, pulling out of his hold and walking to the sink.

  Go? He could only stand there. "I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on with you, Christian. And if you don’t, by God, I’ll find another way to discover whatever it is you’re hiding."

  Her hands shook as she placed them on the countertop, fisting them until her knuckles were white.

  What inner battle was she waging?

  "Please leave."

  Brayden looked to the ceiling as though hoping for the answer to all his questions to appear there. But no floating hand appeared to write a single blessed thing.

  "Are you going to tell me a
bout these creepy phone calls? And this midnight present?"

  "No."

  Damn her.

  "Why the hell not?"

  "Because I want you to leave."

  "We don’t always get what we want," he told her, wishing she’d turn around.

  "Geez, ya think? Look, Brayden, I’m really tired. I just need some time-time alone, to think. Okay? I can’t eat, I haven’t slept. I can’t think straight." Her fists beat on the countertop and he could see the tension in her shoulders from here. "I just want everyone to leave me the hell alone!" Her voice rose on the end.

  He didn’t know who was more shocked at her outburst, him or her. She wanted him gone. Fine. For now. At least until he figured what the hell to do. And he was damn well going to do something. She couldn’t keep on like this.

  "I’ll go, if that’s what you really want."

  For one long moment she didn’t move, but then ever so slowly, she nodded.

  Brayden could have hit something. Instead, he cleared his throat and counted to five. "Fine. I’m going to the hotel, then the shop."

  "I can open the shop," she said.

  "Don’t interrupt me. I’m not in the mood. Don’t step foot in the shop today. You look ragged." And still beautiful as ever. "Get some sleep. Whatever is going on is there for all to see. We just can’t figure out what the hell it is." He paused. "But I will."

  At the doorway he stopped, slapped his palm on the jamb. "Are you coming up to the house tonight?"

  A moment passed and he heard her swallow, saw her wipe again at her eyes.

  "I don’t know..." she trailed off.

  The leash he’d had on his anger snapped. Damn her. "You’re coming up there if I have to come here and drag you. I don’t know what’s going on that has you acting this way. You won’t tell me. Fine. If you’re mad at me, then fine. You can hide from me, be pissed at me, whatever at me. Do not take this out on Mom and Dad. They love you and care about you. I won’t make any excuses for you with Tori, and I won’t stand by and watch you disappoint her."

  Her head fell to her chest, the lights from the kitchen glinting off the deep mahogany tresses.

  More than anything, he wanted to pull her close and tell her everything would be fine. Kiss her until she smiled. Love her until she confided in him. But he couldn’t do that, wouldn’t do that until she told him what was going on.

  "I’ll be there," she whispered, though he heard it. She cleared her throat, and still didn’t turn to face him.

  "I have rehearsal, it might run a little long, but I’ll be there tonight maybe by seven or so."

  "Fine. Do you want me to wait on you? We could drive up together."

  She shook her head. "No, but thank you."

  Brayden counted to five again and ground his teeth. "I’ll see you then."

  With one long look at this stubborn woman, he turned and strode out of her condo.

  She might not tell him what was up, but he bet the neighborhood cop knew. He’d just drop Lieutenant Morris a visit later today. He wanted to know more about these midnight phone calls and presents. Was this what had her so scared? Or was it something else?

  * * * *

  Christian rubbed the exhaustion out of her eyes as she put the key in her door.

  Rehearsals had been over for two hours. After they’d practiced for most of the afternoon, she’d left to clear her mind.

  The clean air around the mall had done the job. The morning’s fight with Brayden had shoved some of the rubble out of her mind. He might not always have flowery words, but that’s who he was, that’s who she loved. And he was right. She missed him, missed them, what they had, the dream of what they could.

  As she’d walked along Mirror Lake, she’d decided to take a chance.

  Calling Gabe, she’d agreed on a meeting to report the stalking, the photos, the calls, and the gifts. Gifts, plural. Today inside her car, in the passenger seat, he’d left a small wrapped package with a red bow.

  How he’d gotten in her car was the final brink. In the velvet-lined box was the silver locket she’d left on her bed eight years before.

  Josephine, my angel.

  She still didn’t know how to report the crime without reporting the criminal. Therein lay her problem.

  Maybe she’d figure it out in the shower.

  Shrugging off the chill, she looked at her watch. There was enough time to take a shower, get to the station to talk to Gabe and then drive to Seneca. It was five now. So, she might be a little late, but she’d get to the family place around dinner.

  Seneca. Everyone was going to be there. Pumpkin carving. The family tradition. The weekend before Thanksgiving, they carved pumpkins for the fun of it and then cooked the vegetables to make the puree for the holidays. She’d tell them tonight. Then she’d be done with it.

  Anxiety skittered along her nerves. One minute at a time. First, shower, then the station, then confessions with the family.

  Sighing, she opened her door, stepped inside, and shrugged out of her coat. After tossing it on the banister, she turned and slid the deadbolt home.

  Something to drink. Maybe a glass of wine to calm her. No, she didn’t want to smell like a cask of Pinot Grigio when she went to the police to report this. Water, she’d get a glass of water.

  Shadows deepened early this late in the year. She flicked on the hallway light and walked toward the kitchen. Her boot heels echoed eerily in the silence. Light filled the room as she flipped the switch. Just as she stepped into the kitchen, an arm snaked around her middle.

  "Welcome home, Josephine." His words, warm against her ear, froze her blood in her veins and made her breath hitch.

  Oh, God.

  She heard and felt him inhale as he took a deep breath.

  He was here. Here in her home. In her condo. And they were alone. She started shaking.

  No.

  Think. Think.

  Christian kicked back with her boot heel. He grunted, and relaxed his hold enough that she twisted out.

  Whirling, she backed away from the handsome man in her doorway.

  His pale green eyes sparked with that fire they always had when he looked at her.

  Her stomach rolled, the greasy feel of nausea immediate. And though her chest tightened, she fought off the attack.

  "Josephine, that wasn’t a very nice greeting," he said and started toward her.

  She looked around but saw nothing. A basket of fruit, the stale coffee in the carafe, her hanging pot rack.

  "Here I’ve been waiting on you for almost an hour." He shook his head.

  The knife block. Not very practical, his arms were longer than hers, but it was better than nothing.

  She backed toward the center island.

  His eyes narrowed. "I told you I don’t share. I’ve never shared. You are my angel. I won’t share you with anyone. Not the cop and not that Kinncaid boy. Didn’t you learn before?"

  Boy? She’d never heard of anyone calling six-foot-four-inch, Brayden Kinncaid a boy.

  He stalked her, slowly, calmly, as if he had all the time in the world.

  "What-what do you want, Richard?"

  Though she knew. Some part of her had always known he would find her one day.

  Richard’s taupe colored suit covered his wiry frame and was as pristine as his white shirt and blue tie. A long narrow face was as she remembered it, the cheekbones prominent, the eyes sharp, the nose hawk-like. He’d always reminded her of a bird of prey. The only difference she saw was his neatly combed chestnut hair was not only silvered at the temples, but dusted throughout.

  "What are you doing here?" She looked to the side table for the phone. Damn it. She’d broken it. If she could just get upstairs.

  "You didn’t know?" He slapped a hand against his chest. "I’m truly shocked. I won the Representative election. I needed to see to some things here in D.C. I’ll be living here come January."

  She shook her head.

  He smiled and nodded, his grin straight as a blad
e.

  "You need to leave. I don’t want you here," she said. Her voice trembled, but she couldn’t help it.

  He cocked a perfectly arched brow, the grin growing. "You’d like that wouldn’t you?" he asked quietly.

  Quick as a snake, he struck. His arm darted out, his fingers closing over her arm as he shoved her into the island. She reached back behind her. The hilt of a knife fit her palm.

  "Richard, I don’t want this. I don’t want you here. You should leave." His face was inches from hers.

  And though she almost choked, she tried reason. "Congratulations on your election. You don’t want to ruin your career by being here. Leave. Just leave me alone."

  The dark light of passion flashed in the depths of his eyes. An evil spark. His laugh grated between them, and she leaned back from his warm minty breath laced with tobacco and brandy. "Oh, I won’t ruin a thing. You won’t tell. If you had, I wouldn’t be here. And you wouldn’t risk that nice family you’ve found. Such upstanding and righteous individuals aren’t they, the Kinncaids?"

  Her breath hitched.

  "No, you won’t risk something happening to any of them." One long finger trailed down her cheek, ice following in its wake, as his gaze watched his caress. "And you know something terrible would befall them if you said anything." Those eyes, like shards of jade, locked back with hers. "Anything, Josephine."

  He grabbed her hair and pulled, no longer caressing, the fingers held her hair tightly. She could feel his other hand bruising on her arm.

  "I don’t like this new look."

  He lowered his head and slammed a kiss down on her, bruising her mouth.

  She bit his lip and pulled the knife free, slashing out with it.

  He stumbled back, hissing. "You little bitch."

  Blood lined the cut along his upper arm. Christian kicked out again, catching him in the groin. He bent over, puffing.

  Quickly, she hopped onto the center island, intent on putting it between them. His hand grabbed her ankle and jerked her down on the floor. She slid, scraping her ribs along the edge of the chopping board.

  Oranges and lemons bounced around her and the basket hit her shoulder.