Secret Stalker. Lena DiazЧитать онлайн книгу.
Especially now that he was a cop.
He set the cup of creamy white coffee in front of her and a cup of strong, black coffee in front of himself before finally sitting across from her.
He rubbed his neck and let out a deep sigh, stretching his long legs out in front of him. He looked so tired, as if the weight of everything that had happened today had drained the fight right out of him.
“Why did you come back, Bex? After all these years, why come back at all? It’s not like you went to the memorial service.”
She almost choked on the coffee she’d just sipped. She forced the now tasteless liquid down her throat and shoved the cup away. She rose from her chair, fully intending to order him to leave.
“Bex. Please. I’m not trying to fight. I really want to know.” He watched her intently, waiting for her to make the decision.
She drew a deep breath then sat down again. “I had a private funeral for her in...outside Destiny.”
He nodded. “I figured. Which is kind of my point. Why come back? You didn’t have to. You could handle everything remotely. From wherever you live now.”
Silence filled the room, his unasked questions hanging between them. Where did she live? Where had she gone? Where would she go once she left again?
She considered telling him. It wasn’t exactly a big secret anymore, as it had been when she’d fled. Privacy was a fantasy these days. Finding someone was as easy as doing a search online, even if they’d changed their name—which she hadn’t done.
If Max really wanted to find her, he could. Especially as a police officer. He’d be able to track her down. And yet, all these years, he’d never once tried to find her. Had never walked up to her condo or visited her little shop, asking for answers. So she wasn’t going to give them now.
“I needed to settle her estate, go through her things, pack up the house.”
He didn’t say anything, just waited.
She glanced around the kitchen, at the fading yellow drapes hanging above the sink. The horrible red-rooster wallpaper on the wall above the stove, wallpaper that she’d hated while growing up here but that somehow seemed perfect now.
She smoothed her fingers against the faded, chipped laminate-topped table. Her mother had refused to let Bex replace it with one of the gorgeous antiques from her store. Mom had insisted she loved the cheap, worn table. But Bex knew that what her mom really loved were the memories she’d shared with Bex’s father at this worn-out table, before a tight curve on a dark road had taken him away from both of them.
“Bex?”
She forced her hands to stop rubbing circles on the fake wood. “I guess I just...needed to see...home, one last time. I wanted to go through her things, remember her, decide what to keep, what to give away.”
“Was there any other reason that you came back?” he asked, his deep voice soft, barely above a whisper.
He was giving her an opening. It shocked her to realize that, to see the longing in his eyes, bared before her. And, God help her, she wanted so much to tell him that, yes, she came back to see him, too. But that wasn’t true. No matter how much she wished it could be. Once she left this time, she knew she’d never see Max again.
She slowly shook her head. “No. No other reason.”
He blinked, and like throwing a switch, his eyes shuttered, his expression went blank. “Well,” he finally said. “Guess that answers that.” He gave her a bitter smile. “I loved you, Bex. All those years ago, I loved you in every way a man can love a woman—with my mind, my body, my heart, my soul. And I thought you loved me, too. I would have done anything for you back then. Anything. Together we could have faced whatever really happened the night Bobby Caldwell died. We would have gotten married, raised a couple of kids by now.” He shook his head, a muscle flexing in his cheek. “But all that’s water under the bridge now, isn’t it? You’ve sure as hell moved on. Guess it’s high time I moved on, too.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket. “If going to the station’s too difficult, so be it. We’ll do the interview here. You don’t mind if I record it, do you?”
She sat as still as a statue, staring at him in shock, reeling from everything he’d just said. And one thing in particular—that it was time he moved on. What did that mean? That in all these years he’d never dated anyone? That he’d been, what, waiting for her?
She’d dated, a handful of times. But her first dates were always last dates. Because no one had ever measured up to Max. She’d never once considered that he might have been existing in that same limbo that she had all this time. And now she wished that she could tell him the truth.
That she hadn’t moved on. And never would. That a day hadn’t gone by that she didn’t think of him.
He arched a brow. “Bex? I’ve turned on the recording app. Do you consent to having your statement recorded?”
She blinked, then nodded.
“You have to say it out loud.”
“Oh, um.” She cleared her throat. “Yes, I consent to having my statement recorded.”
“Excellent.” He shoved the phone to the middle of the table between them. “First we have to get the logistics out of the way. State and spell your first and last name for the recording. Then list your address and place of employment.”
She frowned. “Is that really required?”
He nodded.
She sighed and told him what he’d asked, admitting that she lived in Knoxville, giving him the address of her condo. And she told him about her antique store. Then she went on to answer his questions about everything she’d done the day of the grocery store shooting.
The interview started out stilted, on her side at least. But answering his questions was almost a healing therapy for her emotional wounds. It helped her go numb, almost dead inside, and get through this.
Going over the same questions over and over was grueling, tiring and reminiscent of when the chief had grilled her years ago. Thornton had trained Max well. She felt just as guilty this time as she had ten years ago, even though this time she had nothing to feel guilty about.
He finally stopped the recording and put his phone away. “I guess that’s it. For now.”
Relieved, she grabbed both of their long-empty coffee cups and carried them to the sink. After rinsing them, she turned around. Max was still sitting at the table, studying her as if he had a million more questions and was looking to her for the answers. Afraid that he might start the interview all over again, she headed toward the archway into the family room.
“Thanks again for protecting me this morning.” She waved toward the front door. “You can see yourself out. I’ve got packing to do.”
She headed into her bedroom, the one she’d had her whole life until she’d left at eighteen. Taking the master bedroom hadn’t even tempted her. It would have felt...weird, sleeping in the room her mother had slept in just a few short weeks ago.
Her suitcase was in the closet, so she grabbed it and dropped it on top of the bed, then flipped it open. She’d packed light, with just a week’s worth of clothes, and had laundered everything yesterday. It wouldn’t take long before she could head out. She opened the top dresser drawer and grabbed a stack of underwear and bras.
“You’re not sticking around?”
Startled, she jumped, then pressed a hand against her chest. Max lounged in the doorway to her bedroom, looking impossibly appealing.
“Sorry,” he said, even though he didn’t look sorry. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”
She shoved her armload of underwear into the suitcase and headed to the dresser for more clothes. “I’m going home.”
“When?”