Dangerous Obsession. Jessica R. PatchЧитать онлайн книгу.
just liked the feel.
“I’ll come up with something better tomorrow,” he deadpanned and flashed a commercial-worthy grin. But she was going into a dark and empty home—one she hoped was empty—so the grin fell flat.
“You do that.” Before he could respond, she hurried inside. Not that she wanted to be there, but she didn’t want to spar with Wilder—not when he was all flirty and enamoring. She was at war for her life with a stalker. She didn’t need to be at war for her heart with her boss. A cold chill swept up her spine. It’s fine. She was fine. Cosette flipped on a light. Nothing out of place. She rolled her bag into her bedroom.
She needed a long hot bath and a good night’s sleep.
Creak!
Cosette’s muscles locked up and her heart skittered into her throat.
She was hearing things. No one was in her house.
Blood pulsed in her ears, making a whooshing noise like a ceiling fan. It hurt to breathe. She listened. Nothing.
Letting out a relieved breath, she reached for the light switch.
Something rustled in her closet.
Her hand froze on the switch. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t flip on the light. Couldn’t breathe.
Suddenly, the closet door burst open and a figure charged through the darkness, knocking her into the chest of drawers and sending her crashing to the floor as he exited her bedroom. She lay there in terror, unable to form a coherent thought. But she couldn’t lie here all night. Where did he go? Would he be back? She forced clarity to come, and after a moment, gasped and flipped on the light, while pain throbbed in her shoulder.
Her vanity stool had been knocked over, as if the dark-clad figure had tripped, hurrying to the closet to conceal himself before being caught red-handed. But doing what? She slowly searched her bedroom, her heart racing like a meteor. Her makeup was out of place. Something drew her attention to the mirror, and she clasped her burning throat. Drawn in lipstick on her vanity mirror was a huge heart.
Invisible creepy-crawlers skittered across her skin.
“Hey.”
Cosette screamed and grabbed the vase on her dresser, spinning to face her attacker.
Wilder held his palms up, gun in one hand. “Hey,” he repeated softly, soothingly. “It’s just me.” He inched toward her and slowly removed the vase from her grasp. “I had a feeling I needed to come back. Your front door was unlocked. Why didn’t you...” His glance took in the vanity mirror. “Is he still here?” He’d connected the dots.
She shook her head.
“Lock this behind me.” Like a bullet from a gun, he was out the front door.
Cosette did as he commanded, concentrating on breathing, but the lipstick heart was a huge menacing sign that Jeffrey had returned. In her home! She went through her half-opened drawers. He’d been going through her things!
How had he found her? Unless...what if it wasn’t Jeffrey? Beau had said he’d missed her. Could he have gotten here in time to do this? Yes, if he’d left Friday night, after Wilder had put him in his place. But would he have done this? Cosette couldn’t be sure and she hadn’t been able to clearly see the attacker or his build. Beau was shorter and stockier than long and lean Jeffrey.
She headed for the kitchen. A cup of tea was in order, in the attempt to settle her nerves.
Pounding on the door sent her jumping; she yelped.
“It’s me, Cosette.”
She opened the door and Wilder stalked inside, a deep scowl on his face. “Whoever was here is long gone now. I’ve called the police.”
Cosette nodded. He might be long gone now, but he wasn’t going to stay gone. After leading the way to the kitchen, she reached to turn on the sink faucet, but her hand trembled and water missed the kettle and ran down her arm.
“I think it’s time you come clean.”
Her hands continued to shake as she carried the teapot to the stove.
Wilder’s eyes softened as he took it from her, then led her to the table and into a chair. She didn’t want this—this feeling of needing him. This feeling of helplessness. But part of her relished that he was here. Near her. Protecting her. It wrapped around her heart and caressed it until it was warm and pliable.
No. She closed her eyes. She would not let herself react this way to him. She couldn’t.
“Cosette?” Wilder put the kettle on and then sat across from her, elbows leaning forward on the table “Did he hurt you?”
“No. I think I scared him. Interrupted him.”
“Interrupted him doing what?” His voice was low and icy.
“Drawing that heart. Sifting through my things.” She couldn’t stop shaking.
Wilder got up from the table and pulled her up and into his powerful arms. “How long has this been going on?”
Cosette couldn’t keep this a secret any longer, not from him, or from the police, who would be here any moment. How humiliating. She could kiss the equine therapy idea goodbye. Wilder would lose all faith in her. See her differently when he discovered the truth—that she wasn’t the put-together professional he thought her to be. “The first time or this time?”
Wilder stiffened.
“I’m so sorry, Wilder. I should have told you when the note came. And I definitely should have said something at the graveside.”
He drew back to look at her. “What happened at the cemetery?” His dark eyebrows furrowed.
She told him about the “gifts” and note. “I can resign. Leave.”
He framed her face and scrunched his nose. “You’re not going anywhere but back to CCM and your old apartment. Once the police are done, you can pack a few bags. Unless you have enough to get by for a while.”
Of course he’d want to help her. That was his job. What he did. Protected people. But how could he trust her professional judgment any longer? She could hardly look him in the eye. “Thank you,” she muttered.
The teakettle whistled.
“Have a seat. I’ll get this.” Wilder went to task making her a cup of chamomile tea with honey and brought it to the table. “I wish you would have told me, Cosette. I mean, this is what I do.”
“I know.” It was embarrassing.
“Was this Beau? It’s a cowardly move, and he’s a coward for sure.”
“Until the class reunion, I’d say no. But now I don’t know. It’s doubtful.”
A knock came. “Atlanta police.”
Wilder let them in and shook hands with one of them. Must be a friend. He had friends all over. He took charge like always and gave them the rundown. Showed them the bedroom. “Cosette,” he called. “Was anything taken from your drawers? Did you notice?”
She walked into the room, feeling intruded on by the actual intruder and now the police and Wilder combing through her private things—in her bedroom. “Nothing I can tell, except the tube of lipstick he used. He may have been about to write something when I interrupted him. I can’t say for sure.”
“Any idea who is doing this?” an officer asked.
She had a couple good ones.
Wilder had known something wasn’t right with Cosette. How could she have kept from him the fact she had a stalker? Knowing about Meghan, who was the whole reason