Why (Stalker Series Book 2)

by Megan Mitcham

  She crawled into the center of the bed, careful not to hiss at the pain in her lower back, and eased against the headboard and the pile of pillows he’d strategically placed for her. Her mouth once again dropped open. “You’re married.”

  Owen’s thick brows lifted toward the sky. “Nope.”

  “Why aren’t you married?”

  “You’re not seriously asking me that?”

  “Why not? You’re kind and thoughtful and hot as the goddamned surface of the sun.”

  The corners of his mouth turned up, and she’d swear horns sprouted from his skull. Cute, nearly innocent horns that made him all the more handsome.

  “Don't do that.” She shook her finger at him. “Don’t change the subject with a sexy smirk.”

  “I can do that?”

  She glared at him. “Why aren’t you married?”

  “I haven’t found anyone who challenges me.” Owen leaned in, shooting her a pointed look. “Hadn’t.” He flipped the comforter over her legs and set the tray’s legs on either side of them. “Why aren’t you married?”

  “Because I’m deeply scarred, emotionally broken, and incapable of true intimacy.” She smiled sweetly. “That’s what my shrink told me in college. So why bother?”

  “Because you’ve found someone kind and thoughtful and hot as the goddamned surface of the sun.” His teeth were too straight and nearly too white. The barest hint of coffee addiction dulled the shine from blinding to manageable.

  “Smartass.”

  “I figured soup because of the cut in your mouth.” He pointed at the warm, pressed sandwich. “I got some starches too. Fighting leaves you weak even if you win. I always carb-load after a fight.”

  What was this? He was such a badass and equally as much of a caregiver. And she was a loner. No man had ever been inside her apartment for longer than it took her to come.

  “Yeah, me too.” She rolled her eyes.

  As Owen laughed, he toed off his boots and slid onto the bed on top of the comforter. He grabbed two pills from the bottle on the nightstand and held them out for her. When she opened her hand, he traced her lifeline and its parallel fork before plunking the pills in the middle of her palm. She dutifully swallowed the medicine and then chased it down with several bites of soup. The liquid soothed her from the inside out far less than Owen’s presence did. He watched on calmly, content, as though waiting to help with something else.

  “I’m not a princess,” she said as she lay on her bed being served and coddled in her Midtown condo with a view of the park. “I didn’t come from money. All this, everything I have, I’ve worked my ass off to get.”

  “I know you’re not a princess.”

  “Says the man who called me princess.”

  “I was scared and trying to make a point.”

  She snorted. “You were scared?”

  “Yeah.” His head shook slowly. The depth of his gaze revealed yet another layer to Detective Owen Graham. “I’d circled the block twice, looking for a place to park. You weren’t answering your phone. I thought I was too late. I almost was.” His gaze dropped to her sore cheek.

  Gen placed her fingers on the hot, aching spot. “It could have been worse, much worse. Thank you, Owen.”

  “Thank me by promising never to go back there.”

  “I promise.” After all, she hadn’t gotten any useful information from the Sanchez family, not one of them. For better or worse, they stood up for one another. She lowered her hand and continued to slowly eat the wholesome soup.

  “Princesses don’t get their hands dirty.”

  “Oh? And are mine dirty?” She snagged the sandwich, ravenous for a taste.

  “Grimy, even before today.” His thumb traced the outline of her toes, poking up from the covers. “I watched you in court. You scrapped and fought every day to save your friend.”

  “Don’t remind me.” Gen set the panini back on the plate without taking a bite.

  Owen grabbed the sandwich and lifted it to her mouth. “We’re just talking off the record. Not a cop and not a lawyer. Just two people who like each other, taking time to get to know one another.”

  “You think I like you?”

  “Take a bite, stubborn woman.”

  She did as he demanded and smiled around the hunk of bread.

  “I know you do. Otherwise, you would’ve kicked me out two hours ago.”

  Gen nearly choked on the cheesy goodness. “It’s been that long already.”

  “Time flies when you’re having fun or knocked loopy.”

  “No kidding.” She swallowed the bite, took a sip, and stared at the beautiful man on her bed not trying to screw her but seducing her all the same.

  “What makes you think he did it?” There was no malice in his question. No calculated angle, that she could see, and she was used to looking for them all.

  “It’s a lot of things and nothing … that I can’t prove. Yet.”

  “Genevieve,” he warned.

  “I’m not going back there. I promised, and I won’t.”

  “Good.”

  “You care about people, for people. It’s your nature. Why do you care about me so much?”

  “Somewhere in those long months of the trial, in the sparring of our opposition…” He lifted her hand in his. “You worked those vicious claws into my skin, and I can’t shake them. About a month ago, I realized that fighting with you was the best part of my day.”

  She blinked at him in amazement. Men typically hated confrontation, especially from a woman. They wanted a meek and tender woman who didn’t threaten their authority.

  What could she say to that? Amazing. Astounding. A once-in-a-lifetime find. You’ve got to be shitting me.

  Instead of saying anything, she shoveled food into her mouth as though she’d been deprived of food for the past three days. They ate in silence. Well, she did, until she realized she was eating alone.

  “Aren’t you hungry?”

  “Nope. I demolished my own Italian pressed sub while you were in the bath.”

  “Oh.” Goodness, she was shit with small talk, and she’d run out of food and a place to put any more.

  “Want some more?”

  “No, thank you. I’m stuffed, and, honestly, I’m surprised I ate it all.”

  “The shock is wearing off.” He grabbed her bowl, stacked it atop the plate, grabbed the utensils, and carted them off.

  Was it? The longer she spent with this man, the more in shock and awe she became. And she wasn’t that type of girl.

  Owen returned with a legal pad and two pens. Was he about to take her statement? She should press charges against that bitch, Rubia Sanchez, but she wouldn’t.

  He sat on the bed and placed the pad on the tray between them before offering her the pen.

  “Thank you?”

  “Don’t thank me yet.” He drew two parallel lines, running up and down the sheet, and then drew another set of parallel lines bisecting the first two. “If I beat you like I beat most, you won’t be thanking me.” His brilliant blues were shrouded by his long lashes in a mischievous, hot look.

  “Tic-tac-toe?”

  “You bet.”

  “How old are we?”

  “Never too old for some good ole fashioned fun.” He placed his X in the center of the grid. “Your turn.”

  “What if I wanted to go first?” A laugh surprised her, along with her willingness to play a child’s game. There was something innocent about it. Innocence had been ripped from her at an early age, and that experience shaped so much of her existence.

  “Then you should’ve moved first.”

  She drew her O in the bottom left corner and smiled at him. He moved quickly, not lunging for her mouth, but slashing his X in the most strategic position. They battled it out through four games with no apparent victor.

  “So you’re supposed to be some kind of tic-tac-toe whiz, are you?”

  “Seems I’ve met my match.” He chuckled.

  How exactly d
id he mean that?

  She offered him a sassy wink and wished like hell her body wasn’t so battered. Without the ability to screw her way out of the emotional experience, she was forced to experience this connection with Owen that would leave her feeling hollow when he exited her orbit. And he would. All men did. Usually by her request. She’d never before invested time and vulnerability on a man, so even this little bit had her insides quaking.

  “What is it?”

  Her first impulse told her to make a joke, but she tamped it. “You seem so well adjusted.”

  He snorted. “Is that a compliment?”

  “No, really. I mean, yes, it is. You have seen so much horror and still do, but you’re not completely shut down. How do you do that? How do you deal with the shit and still function normally?”

  “I don’t know how normal I am. But I help people. I catch the bad guys. I try to, at least.”

  “Until some stupid lawyer gets in your way.”

  “It’s checks and balances. The last thing I want to do is put away the wrong person for the crime. It demolishes an innocent person and their family while leaving the real perpetrator free. That’s the opposite of helping. Talking about it helps. My war buddies and I didn’t talk about it for a long time. Not until one of our best friends died by suicide.”

  Had he stabbed the pen through her heart? She glanced down. Nothing was sticking out of her chest, but it felt as though there was. Pain more acute than her throbbing cheek and twinging back clutched her heart. Tears filled her eyes. “How?”

  “Overdose.”

  Gen scrambled away from him. Her back hit the pile of pillows and ground to a halt at the headboard. She stared at him in bewilderment. “Did you pull a background check on me?”

  His brow furrowed. “No, should I?”

  “I just.” She shook her head, willing the images away. “You don’t know?”

  “Know what?”

  “About my sister?” Gen slapped at her tears.

  “I’m sorry.” His head shook. His hand rose in a gesture of surrender. “I don’t.”

  She bit her lips, hoping the words would stay inside, hoping she could shove the question away. It was so inappropriate.

  “Gen, don’t bottle it up. Say it. Whatever it is.”

  That was what she advocated, so why was it so hard to practice?

  Owen pushed the legal pad to the side, eased closer, and grabbed her hand. He kept quiet, yet his touch said so much. She clung to that anchor. Her emotions steadied with each passing breath.

  “Do you hate him, your friend who committed suicide?”

  Owen rocked back as though her question had shoved him. He sighed. His lips smacked as they parted.

  “I hate that he’s not here. I hate that I didn’t recognize the signs for what they were. I hate that I didn’t do something to help. I don’t hate him. He didn’t mean to hurt anyone. He just wanted his hurt to stop, and that’s the only way he saw to accomplish it.”

  Her tears came in earnest. There was no way to hide them from him, not this time, so she didn’t try. She let all the sorrow flow through her, and then it poured out.

  “I hate my sister,” she choked.

  “She died by suicide?” His voice was so quiet, yet the words echoed so loudly in her mind.

  “Evangeline killed herself. She left me all alone … because I left her all alone.”

  “Your sister, she’s the reason you practice law? You told me you practice law to protect those who couldn't protect themselves. Evangeline was your younger sister?”

  “She was my only sister. Older. Two years older.”

  “What happened to her to make her believe that was her only option?” He flipped her hand over and snuggled his palm to hers.

  “She shot and killed our uncle LeRoy.”

  If her answer shocked him, he did a great job of hiding it. He simply sat and waited. A first-rate interrogation tactic.

  “That was only the tip of the proverbial iceberg,” she explained.

  “Usually is.”

  “LeRoy had been molesting Evangeline since she was nine. He scared her enough that she didn’t tell anyone, but …” She drew a deep breath and blinked through her tears. “But … when I was nine …”

  She stopped, unable to continue for a moment.

  Owen’s other hand met the back of hers, and his grip tightened.

  “I caught him. I didn’t know until years later what I’d actually caught him doing, but it doesn’t make me feel any less guilty. Evangeline was there. She was crying, and I didn’t help her. LeRoy had a way of putting things. I didn’t want to get in trouble,” she scoffed.

  “You were a child. So was your sister.”

  “I know. Rationally.”

  “Emotions aren’t rational.”

  “Tell me about it.” She wiped away the tears from her chin and stared into his intense gaze. Something swelled inside her chest.

  He pulled her hand to his mouth and grazed her knuckles with a kiss. “You have to forgive yourself. After that, forgiving Evangeline will be easy.”

  Twenty

  He kissed her on the cheek in the dark and slipped from the bed. Talk about a series of firsts. He didn’t have to scrounge on the floor for his clothes because he hadn’t taken off a single article. In fact, he’d cuddled her through the layers of bedding. The memory of his warm body against hers along with a double dose of over-the-counter painkillers staved off the worst of her aches. High-dollar concealer and the right tone of blush had minimized her bruise. Like any good liar, she had a backup story in case someone—Janney—noticed.

  Gen shoved open the door to the office. Lisa, the receptionist, had the receiver clutched between her head and shoulder, jotting notes on a legal pad. The woman looked up only enough to see who had entered. Lisa tossed her a wave and then pointed toward the back. Her eyes were wide, and her head shook. She gave a thumbs down. Thumbs up indicated that the boss was out. Thumbs neutral meant she didn’t know. Thumbs down said the boss was in. Gen didn’t know exactly what the wide eyes and headshake indicated, but she’d guess it meant he was in a shitty mood.

  Perfect.

  She offered a nod of thanks for the warning and aimed for her office, hoping to avoid Janney until she had a good excuse to avoid eye contact with the woman. The first two offices were closed. Rosalyn was in court today, and most days, Craig took his time getting into the office. Must be nice. This was her first time to be late, maybe ever, and guilt weighed on her.

  A hand grabbed her upper arm and yanked her from the modestly lit hallway into the blinding lights of the break room. Her right hand balled to bury a fist deep. Two days ago, the reaction would’ve seemed out of place. Now it was ingrained.

  “Whoa there.” Janney threw her free hand up and blocked her face. “It’s me,” she whispered.

  “Christ, woman. I could’ve killed you.”

  “Child, please. You could’ve given me a black eye like the one you’re trying to hide.”

  “How do you …? What are you …?” Gen’s gaze scanned the otherwise unoccupied room. “What’s going on?”

  Janney yanked Gen’s briefcase from her shoulder and shoved a stack of files into her hands.

  “He’s in a tizzy, he is. Stormed through thirty minutes ago, raising hell. Go act like you have a question about one of these cases and find out what’s going on with that man because his demeanor ran Craig out of the office. Lisa tried to leave, but I caught her just in time.”

  “And you want me to—”

  “Go.” Her assistant grabbed her shoulders, turned her around, and pushed her back from where she came. Janney’s short, Irish frame gave her the advantage of leverage.

  Gen walked to keep from being tipped onto her face and to assuage her own curiosity. She passed her own office, the storage closet, and slowed in front of Perry’s closed door. Her hand rose to knock but stalled at the sound of his voice rumbling through the door.

  “I haven’t called you bac
k sooner because I’ve been busy preparing things on my end.”

  “I’m getting anxious, Perry.It’s been too long.” The woman’s voice was ardent, insistent, and familiar.

  Gen’s raised hand trembled and dropped to her side. Where had she heard that voice before? Where? Where? It hit her like a flash, nearly knocking her over. The rear exit of the office near the elevator when she’d hidden like a coward behind the door.

  “I know. I know. Soon.” Perry must have sensed it too. His response coddled and cajoled but had no hint of the irritation Janney and Lisa had referred to.

  She inched closer to the door.

  “You haven’t called in days. I need to see you.” The woman’s voice leaned toward desperation.

  “We’ll be face to face before you know it,” Perry reassured.

  “I hope you’re right, for both our sakes.” The edge of a threat speared the air and stabbed Gen in the heart.

  “Now, Millie, don’t be foolish.” His voice firmed. “I need you to be patient. We’re already rushing things. We have to be careful, remember?”

  A scream ratcheted up Gen’s throat and threatened to spew all over the door. She lifted her hand to cover her mouth, but it hit the edge of the stack of files in her arms. A heap of papers created a fast-flowing avalanche. They hit the floor and crashed into Perry’s office door as loudly as one.

  Gen dropped to her knees and shoveled the heaps toward her as quickly as she could. Before she blinked, Perry’s door swung wide. His wing tips were inches from her face. Her gaze traveled up his long legs, past his wide chest, to his glower.

  “Guess I should have opted for that second cup of coffee this morning.” She grinned. “I was going to ask you a question about one of these cases, but”—her hands executed the perfect Vanna White at the cascade—“I doubt I’ll be able to find it before lunch.” She scooped the papers into an uneven pile, cradled them awkwardly, and stood. “Sorry to bother you.” Her left foot turned toward her office in retreat.