I take my coffee cup to the sink and rinse it out. “And you call me intense. You’re going to blow them away in med school.”
She looks pleased, then doubt clouds her expression. “I don’t know. Sometimes I wonder how much I’m really capable of. I want it so bad, but my mom thinks I should just give up and stop wasting her money.”
“Your mom is an idiot. You’re learning to save lives. That’s the least wasteful use of money I’ve ever heard of.”
“Thanks.” She wraps an arm around me and rests her head against my shoulder. “I really did miss you.”
I have no idea how to respond to that, so I take her coffee cup as soon as she’s done and clean that, too.
With the kitchen cleaned up, the only thing left to do is dress and leave, but I’m not ready to let go of Emily yet.
My cell phone rings. I curse at the interruption and let her go.
Emily winks at me then heads to the bedroom. “I’m going to get dressed.”
“Sure, I’ll just take this out here.” I step into the living room and click answer.
“Hey, Peter. It’s Ross. We’re at the place you asked us to check out.”
That means Emily’s apartment. “What did you find?” I tense as I wait for the news.
Ross pauses. “It’s, umm, a little worse than you thought.”
“What does worse mean?” I can barely restrain myself from snapping at him.
“The writing on the window? The woman thought her stalker had written it on the outside of her window, but she was wrong. It’s written on the inside. He was in her apartment.”
My breath leaves in a hiss.
“Sounds like the janitor gave some guy a key,” Ross continues on. “The guy said it was his apartment.”
“So we have a lead.”
“Eh. Sort of. We know our suspect is definitely a male. Beyond that, the description the janitor gave was vague. He didn’t really pay attention. Just thought it was a standard call. He barely remembers the guy.”
I close my eyes. “So this creep broke into her apartment, but we don’t know who he is.”
“That about sums it up. I don’t know, Peter, I’m worried about this one. Remember that woman back in March?”
Yes, I remembered the woman. Her stalker had tracked her for weeks, learning her every move. Then he’d snatched her off the street in broad daylight. We caught the guy, eventually, but the woman wasn’t alive anymore by the time we got there.
I remind myself that Emily’s stalker isn’t that guy. We put that guy behind bars. That doesn’t mean her stalker is any less dangerous, though.
“You think the stalker wants to kill her,” I say as calmly as I can.
“I don’t know,” Ross hedges. “I just have a bad feeling is all.”
Over the years I’ve worked with him, I’ve learned to trust Ross’ bad feelings.
I don’t know what to tell Emily. Nothing, probably. I don’t want her to panic, especially because we have no leads and no evidence that this guy is really trying to hurt her yet.
I hang up the phone and turn around. Emily’s wide eyes meet mine.
Fuck.
“How long have you been standing there?” I ask. I rack my brain to remember what I said.
“He broke into my apartment?” Her face is white as a sheet. “He—he wants to kill me?”
“We don’t know that for sure yet,” I say in as soothing a tone as I can manage. “I didn’t want to tell you.”
A muscle twitches in her cheek. “Oh. You didn’t want to tell me that my life was in danger. How reasonable of you.” She turns on her heel and stomps back into my bedroom.
“Emily.” I follow her.
She’s grabbing up her clothing from my floor and shoving it in her purse. “I’m leaving,” she says.
“Wearing a towel?” I try to step in her path.
She glares at me. I’ve been a cop for almost ten years, but Emily’s glare is the most intimidating thing I’ve seen so far. “Get the fuck out of my way, Peter.”
I do.
Chapter Seven
Emily
When I slam the door behind me, I have two hopes: that Peter doesn’t follow me, and that nobody else on the floor decides to step out of their apartments to find me half naked. But it’s early, so I think I’m good on that one at least. As for Peter, I’m not sure how to deal with him right now.
The damp towel I’m wearing whispers to the floor at my feet as I rip the clothes from my bag and begin to dress. It’s like I’m piecing my dignity back together with every item, hands shaking.
What was I thinking, coming here? Trusting him after I hadn’t seen him in so long? I should’ve known better. And yet, a creeping feeling tugs at my heart as I finally slip into my shoes. I did know better. Because I know Peter. And he sure as hell didn’t feel like a stranger last night. In fact, the connection we had was instant. I know he felt it, too. It was like coming home.
I stand there a moment longer, listening for any signs that he’s coming after me. Listening, and mostly hoping that the door will swing open and there he’ll be, sorry for trying to lie to me, wanting to make it up to me, telling me to come back inside and that everything will be okay.
How can one person hold so many conflicting emotions simultaneously and not burst into flames on the spot? How can everything be so messed up and so unspeakably amazing all at once? My mind reaches back to a few hours ago, to Peter’s strong hands on my thighs, his face between my legs.
Just then the door does open, and I’m not ready. I feel like I’ve been caught out and that Peter can see exactly where my thoughts have been. But if that’s true, he doesn’t admit to it and simply says, “Here.” He doesn’t even look surprised that I’m still standing there.
I edge closer to get a better look at the small note he’s handing me. A number’s scrawled untidily across it. His number. I swallow hard, but make no move to take it.
“Look, I’m sorry,” he says, his eyes clearly expressing the sincerity in his voice. “I wanted to protect you, that’s all. I didn’t want you freaking out over something that could be nothing.” He steps over the towel to meet me out in the hall and tucks the piece of paper into my purse.
With him standing so close all of a sudden, things like rational thought are becoming difficult. His sweet musk fills my head, making me slightly dizzy. It doesn’t help that he’s not wearing a shirt.
“Thanks.” It comes out all strangled, so I clear my throat and try again. “Thank you. And I’m sorry for storming out like that. I just—”
“Had good reason, because I was kinda being a dick and should’ve handled it better.” A flicker of a smile breaks the stern look of concern he’s been wearing this whole time, and I can’t help but do the same. I know my weak attempt at a smile probably does little to hide the terror inside me. This new information did more than shake me up a little. Some crazy person was actually inside my apartment—might even be out to kill me!
I feel a gentle squeeze on my shoulder, as if Peter can sense my fear. “It’s going to be okay,” he says.
They’re exactly the words I wanted to hear a moment ago, but for some reason I don’t feel any better. “You don’t know that.” The slight tremble in my voice gives me away, nice and clear.
“Yes, I do.” His hand floats up to brush my cheek, and I lean in to the warmth of it. “I’ve got my best men on it, the kind of guys you want in your corner on a case like this, trust me.”
And I do trust him. But I also know that’s not enough.
The harsh reality of my life breaks down whatever protective force field he’s conjured up, and I slowly back away.
“Emily—”
“I have to get going,” I say, holding onto my purse a little too tightly, but it’s the only security I have right now. “I have class, and then I have to figure out where the hell I’m going to stay because I can’t exactly go back home now, can I?” He starts to say something, but I’m on a roll. “Oh! And
I almost forgot—there’s lunch with my mother, too, which is a whole other kind of hell for me to live through on top of everything else. I mean, God forbi—”
“Stay with me,” he says, making sure to raise his voice above my hysterical tirade.
The sound of his words make the ones tumbling out of my mouth instantly stop. I blink stupidly up at him. “What?”
He runs a hand through his already tousled hair, suddenly sheepish for whatever reason. It’s adorable. “I mean, it makes sense for you to stay here, with me,” he says. “Just until this whole thing is over. I’m not on this guy’s radar like your friends might be. And if he’s been watching you the way we think he has, it rules out your mom, too.”
Move in with my mother? Oh, God. “Fine,” I say, pretty much immediately. No more convincing needed here, thanks. And then, feeling like I’ve come across a little too eager, I also add, “I’ll think about it and let you know.”
And I start off down the hall, out of Peter’s realm of protection and into a world where someone wants to love me to death.
My first two classes of the day go by quickly, and surprisingly without any problems. At first, I thought it would be a waste of time with the way I was feeling, but I actually managed to focus in Biochem and Anatomy went over pretty smoothly, despite Mr. Hortenson’s best efforts. That man, first thing in the morning, should come with a warning, especially when taken on an empty stomach.
My own stomach growls as if on cue, and I regret not grabbing the opportunity to have breakfast with Peter. Even after what happened, the idea of waking up with him, sitting down to eat with him, just the thought of doing any old ordinary thing with Peter by my side sends a rush of warmth through my chest. I was mad at him before, but that’s in the past now. I truly believe that everything he’s done has been to protect me. What I can’t decide is if he’s doing it out of duty as a cop, or is it something more?
I hope it’s the latter.
“This is where I take my leave, young Padawan,” Mark says, as we come up to Heather’s Business Ethics class. “Are you going to be okay?”
“Yeah, I think I’ll survive on my own for three minutes. And thanks again for walking me, even though I took you way off course for your next class.”
“Forever at your service, my liege.” He makes a deep bow in the most dramatic fashion before giving in to laughter.
“Oh, shut up, would you?” But he’s got me going, too.
Mark’s usually a goofball, but today it’s ramped up and I know it’s for my benefit. So, there’s my silver lining in all this creepy stalker stuff—discovering my friends are even more amazing than I thought. And I already thought they were pretty cool to begin with.
“Keep it up and you’ll definitely be late.”
This gets him to quit and he starts backing away down the hall, picking up his pace as he goes. “Tell your mom I said hi. Text me if you need anything.” With that, he turns and is swallowed up by a herd of students lazily milling off to their next class.
I laugh softly to myself. He’s never met my mother, but ever since seeing an old Christmas photo of me and her in my planner last year, he’ll throw out random jokes about being just the kind of guy she needs in her life. And he’s right, too. Not about him, of course, but about my mom finding a good man to share her life with. It’s sad how unlucky she’s been in love. I can’t imagine the mom I would have now if things had gone better in that department. Less bitter, more open, quicker to laugh, maybe. Kind of like me when I’m with—
“Do I even want to know what that stupid grin is all about?”
I’m so lost in my head, I didn’t even hear the class let out or Heather come up beside me. She’s staring, and I can’t help but fidget awkwardly under her studying gaze.
I haven’t told her about Peter yet, of course. It just doesn’t feel like the right time with everything else going on. I’m not so sure that I should even be flirting with the idea of him right now either. Talk about bad timing. Between school and my psycho stalker, I have no business getting involved with him. And now he wants me to move in? How am I supposed to concentrate on my studies now that I know what he looks like naked? What he feels like inside me?
I feel a hot flush spread over my cheeks and realize I have to get out of my head fast if I don’t want to give anything away.
“Earth to Emily,” Heather says, waving her hand in front of my face.
I slap it away and we begin our walk to the other side of campus. “Stop. It’s nothing,” I say. “Just thinking about what a clown Mark can be sometimes.”
She gives me a suspicious sideways look, but thankfully doesn’t press the issue. “Fine, have it your way,” she says, with an over-emphasized air of disinterest. “Did your mom get back to you yet?”
“Yeah, she’s picking me up in the library parking lot.”
We step outside, and although there’s a fresh bite in the air, the sun’s bright and glorious in the middle of a pale blue Boston sky. Heather and I amble along Harborwalk, unhurried, immediately lost in the bustle of students taking advantage of the weather.
“And she didn’t ask why you changed your mind about meeting her at the cafe?”
I shake my head. “Nope. She did get into a long-winded story about how it messes with her schedule, and don’t I know she also has things to do, and time is precious to her, blah blah.”
Heather snorts. “Of course she did.”
“But no, it didn’t occur to ask about me. I suppose she’s saving that for later. When she has me cornered, in person.”
“Ooph. Good luck with that. And you’re still not going to mention this whole thing with the stalker?”
I take a breath. My gut is telling me it’s a bad idea to get Trish McAfee involved in this thing. She’ll just find a way to make it about her, and I’m in no mood to babysit her feelings.
“I’ll see how it goes today,” I say, taking that moment to scan my surroundings.
It’s broad daylight, with several people around, and yet I’m still creeped out by the thought of what happened. The freak could be here right now. Watching.
Heather obviously picks up on the shift in my demeanor, because she says, “Relax, Em. He wouldn’t dare to try anything here. Not with us.” She waves a hand, motioning to all the students around us. “And not with me here. I’m a black belt,” she says, with a mischievous chuckle.
“Since when? And in what exactly do you have this black belt?”
“High fashion and big drama,” she says, without missing a beat.
Both of us laugh. I love how she can do that, turn something horrible on its head and make me feel better. I guess that’s her black belt achievement.
“What are you going to do? Write him an angry email?”
She flips her hair over her shoulder with a graceful air of superiority. “And buy a new Gucci bag after I hit send.”
That does it, I’m done. I gasp for breath, holding my aching middle. I can’t think of the last time I laughed this hard.
Just then I get shoulder-checked by Heather, who goes crashing into me like a renegade bumper car. Her sling bag goes flying out in front of us.
“Hey, watch it, asshole!”
But the guy who rudely shoved her out of the way just keeps going, weaving his way through the students.
“What a jerk,” I say, standing on my toes to see the guy’s head bobbing off in the direction of the JFK Library parking lot. “Hey, Heather, isn’t that Trevor?” I turn back to find her putting her bag back on, a tight scowl on her face. “Are you okay? I’m sure that was Trevor just now.”
“Well, I guess Tanya was right—he is an asshole.” She straightens her shirt and hooks her arm in with mine. “Come on,” she says, leading me toward the parking lot. “We can’t let the muggles get us down. And I think that’s your mom’s car over there.”
My mother picks an Irish pub of all things. Not that I have a problem with the place. The Banshee is kind of an institution around he
re, with its cozy setup and aroma of polished maple, grilled beef, and beer. It’s just not the kind of place someone like my mom would usually frequent. It could be that it’s close to campus and she knows I have a class in an hour, because hell would freeze over before my mother became an instrument in my academic demise.
“For Heaven’s sake, Emily.”
The waitress has just brought our orders. Caesar salad for Mom, and a gigantic, mouthwatering Banshee burger for me. With a side of pub fries. I can’t help it. My last meal was a bowl of popcorn and I’m starving.
“Your salad looks good,” I say, with a mouth full of red meat.
I take another bite. I’m sure I look like a hamster with fully loaded cheek pouches as I start to chew my way through this dream of a meal, relishing the sweet juice from the onions setting my tongue alight.
“Well, I suppose we’ll have to put a hold on that red dress for Christmas dinner.”
I give an internal eye-roll at the mention of this. Here we go.
“You know, this wine is from New Zealand,” she says, lifting the glass of white to her lips and taking the tiniest sip.
I’m confused. I was sure she was about to get into her matchmaking thing again. I’m so relieved to have the topic become wine and New Zealand, I feign avid interest and say, “Ah, really?” with impressed raised eyebrows and the works.
“Hm-mm. It says so right here.” She points to the drinks menu. “Kevin was there a couple of months ago.”
Ha. There it is. I was right. I shove a handful of fries into my mouth to hide the inevitable groan building up inside me. She casually brings up her friend Kevin so that she can casually mention his son, the engineer. I’ve been to this show before.
“He travels a lot,” she goes on. “I’m sure he’s seen the whole world by now.”
I seriously doubt that. The whole world is a lot of ground to cover.
“We’re actually planning a trip to Africa in a month.”
Obsessed Page 5
