No Longer Lost: Secrets Of Stone: Book Nine

by Angel Payne

  “We need to talk, son. There are things I need to say to you, and it can’t be done over the phone. Call me back at this number. It’s urgent.”

  And then the call was disconnected. Not a single “please.” Definitely not an “I’m sorry” or “I was wrong.” God fucking forbid those words would ever spill from my mother’s mouth.

  Tension I didn’t need today. In any way, shape, or form.

  I deleted the call and her message as fast as I could. After that, it was a pleasure to focus on much better things—namely, the sight of one sassy, sexy Taylor Mathews strutting toward my car at exactly nine forty-five a.m. when I pulled up in front of SGC.

  Damn it, I was a lucky man.

  I hopped out and scooted around the front of the car to the passenger side in time to open the door for her.

  “Hey, gorgeous,” she said, kissing me on the lips. “Going my way?”

  “I will go anywhere you want me to, beautiful.”

  She slithered into the leather seat, and I closed the door. I jogged around the rear of the car this time and got back into the driver’s seat. “How was work?” I asked while checking my mirrors and looking over my shoulder before pulling out into traffic.

  “It pays the bills.” She shrugged, smiling at me while she answered.

  “You’re in a good mood.” I stroked the exposed skin of her leg where her skirt rode up.

  “It helped immensely knowing I would see you again so soon.” She covered my hand with hers.

  “I’m in love with you.” I brought her slender hand to my lips and kissed the back. Her fingers were like icicles.

  “So you keep saying.” She watched my mouth move over her skin.

  “When are you going to say it back?” I pestered. “And why are your hands so cold? They keep that air conditioning too low. You should bring a sweater.”

  “Mmmmm, I don’t know. I kind of like keeping you guessing.” Surprisingly, she returned to the original question instead of dodging it like she usually did.

  “Really? So this is a game now?” I kept my tone light so she knew I was teasing too.

  “You know what they say. Good things come to those who wait.”

  “Who is they, exactly?” I volleyed.

  “I’m not sure. They, they.”

  “Well, they are full of shit. Waiting sucks. I want you to tell me right now. Say that you love me. Say that you will love me forever. Like I will love you forever.” I tugged her hand, pulling her closer until her seat belt stopped her progress.

  She looked at me solemnly.

  My heart literally jumped to my throat. I contemplated pulling over. Oh, fuck. This was going to be it. At last.

  “Did you know the human head weighs eight pounds?”

  I burst out laughing. My breathtaking, bold, astonishing, amazing little brat. “I actually do know that. Neurosurgeon”—I pointed to myself—“remember?”

  “Oh, yeah. Wrong crowd to dazzle with that fact, I guess.” She slumped back in her seat dramatically, as if I’d popped her balloon.

  I just started laughing again. She was the most adorable woman I’d ever known. I knew in my heart she loved me. I also knew she had her reasons for holding back on saying it. I wasn’t sure what they were, but I had a feeling we were getting really close to reaching whatever invisible milestone she had set before saying it. The air around her was lighter despite the goddamned mire we were going through. Correction. Mires. But here we were, in the best place we had ever been relationship-wise.

  The crucibles had honed us. Had turned our clay into stone.

  Had lit the way for our lost hearts to find each other.

  Even as we walked hand in hand through the front doors of the police station to face the damages and ramifications of her fucked-up stalker, I felt like I was on top of the world. Nothing could tear us apart. Not now. Not ever.

  Cocky as fuck? Probably. But I didn’t care.

  I probably should have.

  The shitstorm was just getting started.

  Chapter Eleven

  Taylor

  It was remarkable how quickly a great mood could be soured when faced with the reality of a stalker.

  We were met by a middle-aged detective named Ron Johnson. Of course, I had a private laugh at the close brush to Don Johnson. But the cute little rhyme was where the similarities ended. This detective had a spare tire around his midsection and the fashion sense of my grandmother’s German Shepherd. None of that mattered though, as long as he was tits at his job.

  Four chairs were arranged around a square metal table in the center of a room not much bigger than the eat-in kitchen of my apartment. Mac and I declined the refreshments the detective offered, wanting to just get on with the matters at hand. Another gentleman walked into the room unannounced and sat at the table, occupying the fourth chair.

  “This is my partner, Detective Munson. Taylor Mathews”—he pointed to me—“and Dr. Maclain Stone.” He nodded toward Mac.

  “Thank you for coming down this morning,” Detective Munson stated. “I’m sorry you had to cut your vacation short, but we appreciate you taking the matter seriously.”

  “Absolutely,” Mac answered. “Taylor’s safety is my biggest concern at the moment. It’s my understanding that no one has been apprehended? What’s being done to rectify that situation?”

  Mac’s normal inclination to take charge of a situation had the detectives bristling. The older of the two wasn’t about to have his turf trampled. I seriously wanted to roll my eyes—in triplicate. And yeah, that meant including Mac in the assessment. I was so tired of men and their tree-pissing.

  “Dr. Stone, if you wouldn’t mind”—the guy shifted in his chair, rolling his weight around and visibly puffing his chest—“since this is an official investigation, we need to follow certain protocol. First, we need Ms. Mathews’s permission to record this conversation, and then we will begin with routine questioning. When we are through with our questioning, you will be able to ask any follow-up questions that you may still have. Ms. Mathews, if you prefer to have an attorney present, you have the right to do so.”

  I took a deep breath. His blustery speech was just pissing me off more. “An attorney?” I spat. “Why would I need an attorney? That asshole broke into my apartment. Why the hell would I need a lawyer?” I could hear the rambling panic rising in my voice, but the mere mention of an attorney freaked me out. “Am I being charged with something?” I dashed a frantic stare between Mac and the detective. Mac’s gaze matched my confusion, which was oddly comforting. At this point, I’d take it.

  “Please forgive me,” Detective Johnson offered. “I didn’t mean to upset you or confuse you. Many people prefer to have an attorney with them simply when they walk through our door these days just to cover their bases. We’ve gotten in the habit of saying that spiel to everyone. You aren’t being charged with anything at this point.”

  At this point. Though his demeanor shifted to good cop, that little tidbit didn’t escape my observation. Maybe I was just edgy and a bit paranoid, but I’d bet my paycheck Mac noticed the wording too. But when I made eye contact with him, he’d already shoved aside his bewilderment for a steady, reassuring gaze, imbuing me with all the courage I needed to continue.

  Habitually, I reached for his hand beneath the table. His huge, strong grip was already waiting. At once he wrapped me in his warm, secure hold. I needed it—more than I’d ever thought I would.

  “So, if I understand you correctly, Ms. Mathews, you consensually went on a date with Mr. Busby just days before you left on vacation with Dr. Stone?”

  “It wasn’t a date,” I volleyed.

  “I’m not following.” He speared me with a puzzled expression, his beady eyes narrowing. “You just said you went to lunch with Mr. Busby, alone, just the two of you, on Thursday afternoon.”

  “Yes, I did. Lunch. Two friends. Just as if you and I went to lunch right now. Nothing more, nothing less. When you use the word date, it implies a roman
tic situation, and it was not that. I had just given blood, and he was getting off for his lunch hour. He asked me to grab a bite with him. That was it. I made it repeatedly clear that the situation was as friends only.”

  “Did you ever get the impression that Mr. Busby was interested in being more than just friends?” Detective Munson asked while focusing on his notepad.

  “Yes. On a few occasions, Mr. Busby made comments—but I told him I wasn’t interested in being in a relationship with him. Additionally, he knew I was involved with Mac. Pardon me. Dr. Stone.” I squeezed Mac’s hand again under the table.

  “So even though you knew he wanted to be more than friends, you still led him on and went out with him?” Johnson pressed.

  “Excuse me?” Mac interrupted this time. It was probably a good thing, so I could check my instinct about slapping the man so hard his head spun.

  “I was asking Ms. Mathews the question,” the detective clarified.

  “I know who you were speaking to, Detective.” Mac punctuated it with heavy breaths from his nose while keeping his lips in a board-straight line. “And you are pushing the line of inappropriate implications with these questions to her. It’s imperative that is heard on this recording. If you insinuate, or even come close to it, that Ms. Mathews led that asshole on, or was asking for it, or whatever it is you’re getting at with this line of questioning, we’re going to leave and follow your suggestion to return with an attorney. I hope I’ve made myself clear.” The glare he leveled at the detective was enough to strip him of his attitude.

  The man physically shrank back from Mac’s stare but only by an inch or two. Nothing like the way a man like John would have, for example. Clearly he was used to dealing with all types of personalities, including much more aggressive styles than Mac.

  “Dr. Stone, I again regret any misunderstanding. We’re here today to gather facts. I’m just trying to establish a timeline. An exact course of events that led to the evening of the break-in. We can’t be sure at this point that Mr. Busby is even a suspect.” He paused for a moment and then angled himself toward me. “Now, Ms. Mathews, after you had lunch with Mr. Busby, what happened? Did you go straight home from the restaurant?”

  “No,” I responded, focusing on the hand I still had resting on the table. Be calm. No fidgeting. You haven’t done anything wrong. “I went back to the hospital,” I calmly continued. “I’d driven both of us to lunch, so I brought Mr. Busby back to the hospital. When I dropped him off, I…umm…ran into Dr. Stone, in the parking lot. And then—”

  Before I could continue, the detective interrupted again. “That’s quite a coincidence, isn’t it? I mean, given the size of the hospital and the number of different parking lots on that campus, that you would just happen to see him in the parking lot?”

  “I…agree,” I mumbled. “Quite the coincidence.” What else was I going to say? That Mac was in a jealous rage and came charging across the parking lot to tear John’s head from his torso? Didn’t think that part really added to the investigation.

  “Can you explain that, Dr. Stone?” Detective Munson asked. “What were you doing in the parking lot at that exact moment? Seems odd, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Not odd at all. I left some files in my car that I had taken home to review. My surgery rotation is on Thursday, and I often take patient files home on Wednesday night to prepare for the OR the next day. You understand, get in the right frame of mind and all. I mean, after all, I operate on people’s brains. It’s serious business.”

  He stared at the detective, almost daring him to have an opinion on what it took to prepare for brain surgery. Dear God. He was laying it on so thick, I wanted to smack him in the back of the head. I knew he was doing it to annoy and intimidate the detective, but now was not the time for the God complex. I tried communicating as much with a fast glower his way, but he just stared with droll serenity in return. Arrogant, adorable ass.

  “Doesn’t the hospital have a separate lot for physicians? Why would you be in the lot where Taylor had parked to donate blood that morning? I’m guessing the Bloodmobile doesn’t do their collection drive in the doctors’ parking lot?” one of the cops asked. I was too busy staring at my boyfriend to pay attention to which one.

  “You’re correct,” Mac said without skipping a beat. “I’m still fairly new to the campus, and I don’t know if you’ve been there before or not, but honestly, it doesn’t make the most sense regarding layout. I still get turned around from time to time. I had come out a side door from an interior stairwell, expecting to be one place and ending up in another. I saw the Bloodmobile first, and then by luck, Taylor and John happened to be standing there talking. She and I had some confusion in plans we made the previous weekend and were having a hard time connecting since, so I took the opportunity to speak to her in person. I had some downtime before my next case, so it all just worked out.”

  He shrugged, making it all seem so innocent and plausible. And really it was, if the jealous rage part was taken out. And then the hot monkey sex in his office part.

  But none of that mattered in the facts causing John to lose his freaking mind and vandalize my home.

  “Did you have an altercation with Mr. Busby the day in question?” Detective Johnson asked.

  “Did I?” Mac dramatically asked. “No. Why would I? As I recall, he went inside the RV before I even spoke to Ms. Mathews. I don’t think he even knew I was there.”

  “Did you go home at that point, Ms. Mathews?”

  “No. I went with Dr. Stone to his office inside the hospital. Like he said, we had some things to…umm…discuss. I left about two hours later. The blood drive had ended, so Mr. Busby and the rest of the crew were gone from the hospital property by then.”

  “And that was the last you heard from Mr. Busby?” Munson scribbled notes as fast as his number-two pencil would allow.

  “No,” I answered before swallowing the lump in my throat. Remembering listening to John’s creepy messages made goose bumps rise on my arms. “While I was with Mac in those two hours, John left sixteen messages on my phone.” I waited to see the detective’s outraged response, but his face didn’t change at all. Not even surprise or disbelief. No change at all.

  I was furious.

  “Come on!” I cried. “That is not normal! Sixteen phone calls in two hours? All left on voicemail?”

  “It’s not for me to judge what’s normal or not normal. Just collecting the facts. Did you save the messages?”

  “Yes. Of course I did,” I snapped. “After he showed up at my apartment that night, I was freaked out. I knew he was a complete lunatic and figured if things escalated, I would need to get the police involved.”

  “How did he have your phone number, Ms. Mathews? Did you give it to him?” Detective Johnson asked, using the same condescending tone with which he’d started the interview.

  “No. He said he got it from my paperwork from the blood bank. I think he says that on one of the phone messages.” I looked to Mac to confirm my memory.

  “Yeah, I think he says it on there. Idiot.” Mac shook his head in disgust.

  “So, you said he showed up at your apartment that night?” Munson asked next.

  “Yes. I went home and took a nap. During that time, Mac called—or texted…I really don’t remember—to ask if he could come over for dinner, and of course I said yes.” I squeezed his hand that I was still gripping in my own. “We decided to order Chinese when he got to my place, but Mac went and picked it up instead. When someone knocked on my door, I figured it was Mac, but I still just opened it as far as the chain would allow. It was John. I thought I was going to have to call the police, but Mac, thank God, arrived at the exact same time and made sure he left.” My sentences ran together in one long rush. When I finished, I just looked between the two officers, now knowing better than to expect them to be shocked.

  “He also took her address off the paperwork from her health records. Complete HIPAA violation. If nothing else, charges s
hould be filed for that,” Mac added, tapping on the table at the end of his statement as if punctuating it.

  The younger detective interjected regarding my health records. “I believe that needs to be initiated with the place that maintains the records, but I can look into that for you to confirm that. You’re absolutely right—something needs to be done regarding that abuse of privacy, even if he isn’t charged with anything else by our department.”

  “All right, connect the dots for me. How did you go from Mr. Busby showing up at your door uninvited to a spur-of-the-moment vacation in the Dominican Republic?” Johnson steered us back to the subject at hand.

  Even though he directed the question to me, I looked to Mac to answer. Since it was his actions and the resulting disciplinary action that led to the idea of taking off on an unscheduled trip, I figured he’d be better at explaining the whole thing.

  “We found out somewhere in all of this that John-Boy works at Scripps Green. The Bloodmobile is a volunteer gig he does on the side, and he also said at some point, he only signed up for shifts when he knew Taylor would be donating. We looked on her online account on the flight home, and up until recently, she was a regular donor. Therefore, he could estimate when she’d be in to give blood with pretty decent accuracy.”

  “Who would’ve guessed that would turn out to be a bad thing?” I mumbled.

  “It’s still very noble, baby. It’s not your fault you caught the eye of a psychopath.” Mac kissed the backs of my fingers while I watched with hunger growing inside me. I wanted to be done with this damn questioning and return to the private poolside of our hotel in the DR.

  One of the detectives finally cleared his throat, causing both Mac and me to jump a bit. Maybe we’d been staring into one another’s eyes longer than they were comfortable with.