Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 67144 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 336(@200wpm)___ 269(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67144 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 336(@200wpm)___ 269(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
To: Lovelace, Dahlia
From: Me
Re: Safety Check
Run or die.
Don’t alert the authorities, or I’ll make the choice for you.
My body tenses as my spine stiffens. Nausea swirls at the base of my esophagus, threatening to gag me with bitter bile. Troy’s voice registers faintly over the blood rushing through my body as my trembling finger opens the attachment.
Oh my God.
I push away from my desk, clasping my hand over my mouth. My breath stalls in my lungs.
“Dahlia?” Troy asks.
I rip my gaze away from the terrifying images on the screen and bring them to him.
As soon as our eyes meet, he jumps to his feet.
My eyes fill with hot tears. I try to speak, but I don’t know what to say. I can’t find my voice through the shock … and terror.
“What the fuck is going on?” he asks, his tone hard.
“Troy … I … I don’t know.”
My voice breaks.
He storms around my desk without an invitation and stands behind me. His energy rushes off him, smashing me in the back as he takes in the photographs displayed on my computer screen.
The first picture is me at the grocery store a few weeks ago, picking out lemons for a new lemon sorbet recipe I found online. The second image was snapped at a pizzeria the night I met Morgan and her brother for dinner. Next is a shot of me on a walk in the park last weekend. The next one, of me in my shower two nights ago, is the one that chills me to the bone. It ends with a picture of me at Morgan’s kitchen table last night.
“What the hell is this?” Troy asks, spinning my chair around so I’m facing him. He holds the armrests, caging me in. “Who sent that?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know.”
He looks at it again, his teeth clenched.
My brain scrambles, searching for an explanation. “My first guess is Freddy, considering last night—”
“What the fuck happened last night, Dahlia?” His jaw pulses as he stares at me.
He’s phrased it as a question, but it’s a statement. An order. And, this time, it feels relevant to answer.
“Last night, I realized someone was in my house when I wasn’t.”
“What?”
I gulp, staring up at Troy. His eyes are blazing.
“Last night,” I say, struggling to form words under his scrutiny. “I realized last night that someone has been in my house on and off for the past couple of weeks.”
“You realized this last night?”
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t call me?”
I wipe my palms down my skirt and breathe.
“I should’ve been your first fucking call,” he says, shoving away from the chair.
The movement breaks the moment, and I exhale sharply.
“Call you?” I jump to my feet. “Why? Because my ex-boyfriend has been sneaking into my house and moving around my magnets? You want me to call you for that?”
“Abso-fucking-lutely.”
“I called the police and filed a report.”
He takes a few steps back. “Looks like they’re really on top of it, doesn’t it?”
I want to argue with him. I want to explode, letting loose some of the energy making me shake.
Someone’s been watching me. And now they’re threatening to kill me.
“Come on,” Troy says, heading for the door. His tone’s not to be messed with.
“Where are we going?”
He jerks the door open and waits for me to comply. “Let’s go.”
Run or die.
“Troy, I need to think. I need to figure this out,” I say, hysteria rising in my voice. “I need to call the police, I think. I don’t know. What do I do? Do I leave? Do I run?” I clamp a hand on my stomach. “Oh God.”
“Hey.”
I suck in a lungful of air and look at him through the tears in my eyes.
“I got you,” he says, his voice softer than before. His eyes shine. “You’re not in this alone.”
His kind, stupid words cause a solitary tear to roll slowly down my cheek.
“I feel like I might panic,” I say, swaying on my feet.
“Then panic.”
“But isn’t that like rule number one in security? Don’t panic?”
“You can panic because I won’t.” He motions for me to go to him. And I do. “Now, let’s go.”
Troy’s palm lays lightly on the small of my back, guiding me down the hallway.
“You’re not in this alone.”
For the first time in two days, I don’t feel like I’m one hard breeze away from being knocked to the ground.
I glance at Troy. His fingers flex against my back.
And if I am thrown down, I’m pretty sure he’ll pick me up.
Chapter Eight
Troy
I keep my eyes glued to Ford’s office at the end of the hall.
The pictures in Dahlia’s email are seared into my mind. As disturbing as it is to know someone was stalking her, it’s easier to think about them than the fear in her eyes.
There are so many things I want to say and more things I want to do. I want to know why she didn’t call me last night and how long this has been going on.