I shook my head. “But he doesn’t seem to have been watching me lately. He’s been watching you.”
Blake’s gaze clouded for a few moments, turning inward. “How often has Linton contacted you, asking for interviews?”
“He’s left several voicemails on my phone. I’ve only seen him twice in person—once outside CCC, and another time outside the library where my mom works. I thought he’d been waiting there, hoping to waylay her when she left for lunch.”
“But it could have been that he followed you there.”
I nodded. “Michael said that for Linton, it’s the psychology of the situation that intrigues him. He wants to profile me, my mother, and Michael. Doesn’t really see us as people. Just subjects to be observed and studied.”
“So, maybe he sees this as some sort of experiment. Maybe he’s pushing and scaring you to see what you’ll do; to see how Michael will react to you being targeted this way.”
I took a moment to consider it. “It’s possible, I guess. But it seems a little farfetched to me. My money is on Ricky. Linton may have followed me here and possibly even to the library, but it doesn’t mean he’s done anything else.”
“Except that the person who called you was outside the garage just now. You honestly think it’s a coincidence that Linton was there?”
No, I didn’t. But it was Ricky. Had to be Ricky. Or I’d been watching out for the wrong person all this time.
Rossi spoke to Blake, “This person—Tate, Linton, whoever the fuck it is—wants you gone because he wants her vulnerable. He probably also doesn’t want to face you.”
“It’s more than that,” I told him. “If it’s Ricky, then this is personal to him. It’s a him vs. me thing. If it’s Linton and this is some kind of experiment to him—which I’m not at all convinced of—he won’t want other ‘factors’ affecting it. That’s what he’d see you as, Blake. An outside influence that’s messing with the situation he’s trying to create.” Neither scenario was at all good.
“Wake up, baby.”
My eyelids fluttered open as a finger softly traced the shell of my ear. And I realized I was lying on the backseat of Rossi’s car with my head pillowed on Blake’s thigh. I sat up and did a catlike stretch. Glancing out of the window, I frowned as the car pulled up outside a tall, glass building. “Where are we?”
“My place.”
I lifted a brow. “Your place?”
“Whoever called you tonight will be pissed that their devious move didn’t pay off and make you run from me. You think I’d take you to an apartment that he broke into at least twice?”
Well, I hadn’t thought that Blake would bring me here. Sarah’s place, maybe. Or even my mother’s house. But not here. Purse in hand, I let Blake help me out of the car and said, “’Night, Rossi.”
The driver nodded at me. “You take care now.”
Hand in hand, Blake and I headed for the building. A tall, graying doorman flashed us a wide grin and opened the door with a simple, “Evening, Mr. Mercier.”
“Thank you, Leonard,” said Blake.
Inside, Blake pulled me past the desk, exchanging a nod with the male receptionist there. Still hand in hand, we then rode a private glass elevator up to the top level. It quickly became apparent that the entire floor belonged to him.
As he unlocked the door, I stepped onto the hardwood floor of the foyer, inhaling the scents of citrus and wood polish. Blake ushered me toward the living area. I felt a slight warmth seep through the soul of my shoe and paused. “Underfloor heating?” Oh, heaven. I kicked off my heels and let out a happy little sigh as the warmth eased the aches in my feet.
“Drink?” Blake offered.
“No, thanks,” I said, taking in my surroundings. The living area was bright and open with mind-blowing skyline views. Plush, comfy-looking white sofas were set on a large black rug. It should have looked bland, but it didn’t. Maybe because of the paintings, glasswork, and fresh flowers. A widescreen T.V. was placed in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, so that anyone looking at it also got to drink in the panoramic views.
“Nice,” I told him, aware that he was watching me closely. I did a slow turn, catching glimpses of the top-of-the-line kitchen, charming dining area, and the glass spiral staircase. Immaculate and luxurious, the apartment no doubt included every upgrade and every feature imaginable.
Unlike with the office in his club, it didn’t lack personality. Didn’t look like a stage or showroom. It reflected Blake well—clean, neat, stylish, bold. If I could one day afford a place with a view like that, I’d be a happy girl.
Swallowing up my personal space, he stroked my throat. “You’re tired.”
As I was yawning, I couldn’t even deny it. Honestly, I was so zonked I didn’t object when he lifted me into his arms and carried me up the staircase. Just like on the lower floor, every surface was free of dust, smudges, and clutter. The place was spotless and smelled amazing.
“Your cleaner and I should really talk and exchange tips,” I said as he took me into the bedroom, which was as tasteful and elegant as the rest of the place. Like the man himself, the furnishings were masculine, stylish, and had character. He stood me at the foot of the massive bed and then peeled off my clothes. As I sank into the comfiest mattress in the history of ever, I almost groaned.
Still standing, he tilted his head. “I like the look of you in my bed.”
I really liked resting on it, so all was good in my world. He began to unbutton his shirt, revealing taut muscle and sleek skin, and I went from exhausted to alert in a second flat.
“Mine to do with what I wish,” he added.
I could only nod, my attention on the gloriously male, ripped body he was revealing inch by blessed inch.
“So, you’re a writer. What’s your penname?”
I didn’t tear my eyes away from the striptease as I answered, “You won’t have heard of it.”
“Probably not,” he allowed. “I’m not much of a reader, and I stick to non-fiction books anyway.”
I gaped. “Not much of a reader? How can I ever trust you?”
He chuckled. “Penname?”
“Nina Bowen.”
He crawled onto the bed, hovering over me, and pressed a light kiss to the hollow of my throat. “Why horror books?”
“I didn’t really choose the genre. Not consciously.”
“I’m guessing you use a penname because you don’t want your career tainted by your association with Bale. And because you’re not good with attention.”
I inhaled sharply as he curled his tongue around my nipple. “I like this kind of attention.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. Because I’m going to fuck you fast and hard. And then you’re going to sleep, because you’re exhausted.”
Sounded good to me.
Muffled voices woke me the next morning. It took me a moment to realize where I was, and it was awfully disappointing to also realize that I was alone. I was a big fan of morning sex.
I was also, just as Blake had said, curious as a cat. So it was kind of a reflex to strain to hear whatever conversation was taking place somewhere outside the room. All I could be certain of was that one voice belonged to Blake and that the other voice belonged to a woman. Tara? I couldn’t be sure.
I edged out of bed, pulled on my thong, and slipped on one of Blake’s shirts. As I stood on the landing overlooking the large living area, I could hear the voices better, but there was no one in sight.
“… how can I not be intrigued when I get a call from Tara, telling me that my baby stepbrother laid a claim on a girl? Tell me about her.”
Ah, this had to be Emma.
There was a brief hesitation before Blake responded. “Her name’s Kensey Lyons. She’s twenty-six. She waitresses at Chrome Canvas Bar.”
“Which tells me nothing,” Emma grumbled.
“I have a job for you,” he said, sober. “I have two names—Ricky Tate, and Noah Linton. I ne
ed you to find out everything you can about these people. I’ll write down some basic details so you have a starting point. Make this job a priority.”
“I’ll get my darling husband right on it. He’s the best PI I have. Can I ask why this is so important?”
“It’s possible that one of them is stalking Kensey.”
“Really? Jesus. Who do you think it’s most likely to be?”
“I don’t know. But they’re both in her life for similar reasons. You’ve heard of Michael Bale, right?”
“The serial killer?” asked Emma.
“Yes. He’s Kensey’s stepfather. Her mother married him when Kensey was a toddler.”
“Really? That must be one hell of a cross to bear. Poor girl.”
I blinked at the unexpected sympathy. Usually, people made disparaging remarks.
“Wait, I knew I recognized the name ‘Lyons,’” Emma went on. “She’s Maxwell Buchanan’s kid—the one he didn’t acknowledge.” A pause. “I’ve never liked that family, especially Joshua. Never liked his ex, Libby, much either.”
Oh, I was going to like Emma.
“I’d like to meet Kensey, Blake. We need to set something up. When will you next see her?”
A long pause. “She’s here.”
“You actually brought a woman here? Oh, this just keeps getting better and better. Well, go get her.”
“She’s sleeping.”
“So wake her. I’d like to ask her some questions about Tate and Linton. She’ll know more about them than you do.”
He sighed heavily. “Fine. But be careful what you say. She doesn’t know about Montgomery.”
My ears perked up at that. Montgomery?
“Don’t you think she can deal with it?” asked Emma.
“I think she can deal with it. I’m just not ready for her to know yet.”
“You’d rather she never had to know,” Emma accused.
“Can you blame me? Look at the life she’s had. Look at the way it hounds her. She doesn’t need more dark shit in it.”
“You want to be the good thing in her life. I understand. And I totally approve, because it means you care about her. But if you want this to go the distance, you’ll have to tell her sometime.”
“I will, but she’s smart enough to figure it all out on her own,” he griped. “That’s why I want you to be careful what you say.”
“It’s not like it’s some terrible secret. You’re the only one who thinks you should be ashamed of what happened. Do you think she’d be ashamed of you? That she’d judge how it’s affected and scarred you?”
There was a long pause before Blake spoke. “Some bastard roofied a girl’s drink at the club and tried dragging her out of there. He had a knife in his jacket.”
“Rat bastard,” Emma muttered.
“I had Rossi and the guys stress how bad it would be for him to ever repeat a thing like that. Kensey saw it. Saw me standing in the parking garage, watching and holding a fucking knife. She was once held at knifepoint in a parking garage.”
“Shit.”
“She didn’t run. Didn’t freak out on me. She’s strong. She’s got guts. Do I think she’d judge me? No. But I want a little time before I take that chance. I’d be trusting her with a lot.”
“That’s true. While it’s utterly weird to see you serious about someone, I couldn’t be more thrilled. I’m psyched to meet her—hint, hint.”
Blake let out a long, heavy sigh. “I’ll go wake her.”
My eyes widened. Oh, fuck, I needed to move.
“Just remember to—”
I was quietly scampering back into the bedroom when I heard his cell ringing. Good, that should buy me a few minutes. I was in the middle of brushing my teeth when he entered the en suite bathroom.
He pressed his front against my back and snaked his arms around me, resting his chin on my shoulder. “You look good in my shirt.”
I spat out the toothpaste and rinsed my mouth. “Had to use your toothbrush,” I told him. “Couldn’t find any spares.”
“I don’t keep spares, since I don’t bring women here.”
I liked that response.
He kissed my neck. “Emma’s here. She wants to meet you.”
I tried to look surprised. I must have succeeded, because he didn’t look in the slightest bit suspicious. “I’m not really very presentable right now.” His shirt only came to mid-thigh on me.
He snorted and took my hand in his. “Trust me, Emma has no delicate sensibilities to shock.”
Still, I insisted on slipping on my dress before meeting her. As we descended the staircase, she rose from the breakfast bar with a bright smile. She looked more beautiful in person than she had in the photos. She faintly resembled Laurel with her wide-set eyes, dimpled chin, and slightly protruding ears, but the physical similarities appeared to end there.
“You must be Kensey,” she said. “I’ve heard quite a bit about you. I’m Emma, Blake’s stepsister.”
“Hi.” I forced a smile. “I’m a little socially awkward, in case you can’t tell.”
Blake smiled. “She can tell.”
I elbowed him in the ribs, but he just chuckled.
As we all settled at the kitchen island, Emma told me, “Tara said you had beautiful eyes; she’s right. They’re striking. Oh, Blake, you should keep an eye on that situation—no pun intended,” she added, sobering just a little.
My brow wrinkled. “Situation?”
“Tara’s seduced women away from him in the past,” Emma explained. “Like two brothers competing over women. Only Blake isn’t actually partaking in the competition. It’s just Tara being weird.”
Or Tara being jealous, not wanting to see Blake with other women, I thought.
“Not that I’m saying I think she’ll succeed with you, Kensey,” Emma continued. “Just that, as you’re not a passing fancy to him, he needs to watch that she doesn’t play her games this time.”
If she played any games with me, I’d punch her right in the face.
“Blake told me a little about your current problems. I run a PI firm and, even if I do say so myself, we’re freaking good at what we do. It would help if you could tell me everything you already know—or think you know—about Tate and Linton. I’ll take it from there.”
“Okay.” And then I gave her every bit of information I had on them—most of which I’d already shared with Blake. All the while, I wondered what it was that he was worried I couldn’t understand or accept. Emma had said it wasn’t a terrible secret or something he needed to be ashamed of, but he seemed to think differently.
Unfortunately, Emma kept to her word and was careful with what she said to me, which meant I had no clues except for ‘Montgomery’ … which basically meant I knew fuck all.
After Emma left, Blake and I ate a quick breakfast and then showered. Pinning my arms above my head, he fucked me hard against the tiled wall of the walk-in shower. As such, I was deliciously sated and relaxed as he drove me to my apartment.
Halfway there, Blake said, “Emma liked you.”
Turning my gaze away from the window, I blinked. “Hmm?”
“Emma. She liked you.”
“I liked her.”
“Good.” He paused as he shifted gears. “While we’re on the subject of families, you should introduce me to your mom.”
I tensed. “No, I really shouldn’t.”
“Ashamed of me?”
“With your basement of debauchery? Of course. Clear would be scarred for life if she heard about it.”
The loud chuckle that rumbled out of his chest was a dark, throaty sound that made my stomach clench. “I haven’t even come close to debauching you. But I will. That’s not something your mom needs to know.”
I turned my gaze back to the window as I spoke. “When people meet Clear for the first time, they expect her to be crazy. Why else would she have married a serial killer? She has to be a fucking fruit bat, right? She’s not. I’m not saying she’s normal. She does
n’t live in the real world. She lives in her own bubble; believes what she wants to believe and sees what she wants to see. It’s her fragile mind protecting itself, I guess. But other than that, she’s shockingly normal. When people realize that, they figure that if she’s not crazy, she must be plain cold and evil to the core.”
“You already told me she was damaged deep inside, remember.” He slowed as he reached a red light. “Are you worried I’ll treat her to a lecture about her choice of husband?”
“It wouldn’t matter if you did. Nothing will ever shake her faith in that decision.”
“Not even the impact it’s had on you?”
“Clear’s put me before herself thousands of times, but never when it comes to Michael.”
“If you tell me she’s not evil or crazy, I believe you. I won’t pretend that I don’t judge her for marrying him—I doubt there are many people who wouldn’t. I know she’s your mom, baby, but it was a fucked-up thing to do. I’d say, ‘to each their own’ if her selfishness hadn’t affected anyone but herself, but it also deeply affected you. That’s not at all good with me. Still, I’ll keep my opinions to myself; I won’t be a bastard to her.”
I looked at him, brow pinched. “Why do you want to meet her?”
“I told you, I want to be part of your life. I may not know an awful lot about being in a relationship, but I know that couples generally introduce each other to their families.”
Yeah, but I suspected part of it was that he wanted everyone, including my mother, to know I was his. Not that that was a problem. It was just that he had no idea how weird it could be, listening to Clear talk about Michael—not only how sweet and doting he was, but her concerns about his health and the conditions he lived in, expecting sympathy for him. I’d need to have a word with her beforehand. “Fine.”
He gave my knee a little squeeze. “Good girl.”
Just then, we arrived at my apartment building. As I got out of the car, I glanced around. No silver Sedan anywhere. No loiterers.
Blake skillfully swiped my bunch of keys from my hand and unlocked the main door. When we reached my floor, he insisted that I wait outside the apartment until he’d confirmed it was safe to enter. I didn’t like him searching the interior alone, but I agreed to wait at the door purely to keep the peace.
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