Drawn To You: A Psychological thriller

by Ren Montgomery

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Also by

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  About the Author

  DRAWN

  TO YOU

  REN MONTGOMERY

  Copyright © 2021 by Ren Montgomery

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, incidents, characters,

  and places are products of the authors imagination or

  are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events,

  or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form

  or by any electronic or mechanical means, including

  information storage and retrieval systems, without

  written permission from the author, except for the use

  of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover painting: Deposit Photos: re_bekka

  Trigger Warning: This book contains physical

  violence and sexual assault.

  ISBN: 9798469231585

  Also by Ren Montgomery:

  HAUNT

  FOR MOM♥

  ♥ I love you and miss you and

  wish you were still here ♥

  …and a special thank you to:

  MONTY

  My phenomenal editor.

  (as always, any mistakes are mine & mine alone)

  BREEZE

  For being a fantastic first reader & critic

  and a most wonderful daughter!

  ANDREW PRICE

  For helping me de-geezer Sean’s playlist,

  and for introducing me to the term

  math rock.

  I am much obliged

  CHAPTER 1

  “Excuse me.”

  Ruby frowned. “Sean’s hair smells fresh, like citrus fruit,” No. …She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply through her nose, forcing the frosty air into the very bottom of her lungs. She smiled. “His hair smells sweet. Like orange blossoms.” Perfect. She rubbed her thumb against her fingertips and felt Sean’s silky hair flowing like water through her hand.

  “Hello?”

  Her face tingled from the cold, and she knew her cheeks would be rosy. Wait. Did Sean ski? Of course, he must. He’d always been so physically gifted. She saw him skimming down a mountain and whooshing off a ski jump, his perfect body silhouetted against a cloudless, azure sky…

  “Excuse me. I need to get in there.” She felt a tap on her shoulder and opened her eyes to row upon row of premium ice cream pints. She was standing with her upper body wedged inside the open door to the ice cream freezer at the grocery store. She blinked, brought her palm up to rub her cold nose, and bashed herself in the face with the ovulation predictor kit she’d forgotten she was holding.

  “Hello? Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.” She cleared her throat, palmed the kit, and stepped aside, allowing the freezer door to close behind her. Her face was red as she turned to face the man talking to her. “Sorry about that—”

  She met his eyes and caught her breath. He was magnificent. She let her gaze wander over him. He was easily the best-looking man she had ever encountered outside of Hollywood or a modeling agency. He was tall and muscular with a perfect nose, a dimpled chin, an even tan, and navy-blue eyes fringed by long eyelashes. She ran a hand through her newly shorn dark-brown hair and tossed him a flirty smile. “I was woolgathering.”

  “No problem.”

  His voice was deep and pleasant. He opened the freezer door she’d just vacated and grabbed a pint of vanilla. “See how quick I am?” He let the door close and placed the ice cream in his cart. He smiled, showing off ultra-white teeth and dimples. “Woolgather away. I’m finished. …Ruby.”

  He knew her name. How? She narrowed her eyes, considering him. There was no way she would have forgotten someone so impossibly gorgeous. Perhaps he was a fan?

  He closed the distance between them. His breath was minty-fresh, and his golden hair gleamed under the fluorescent lights. Ruby stepped back and felt her back touch the freezer. His smile faded.

  “You don’t remember me, do you?”

  “Should I?”

  His face flitted through a myriad of expressions before settling on a sad smile. “I certainly remember you.”

  She quickly flipped through a mental rolodex of old lovers and acquaintances and came up empty. She crossed her arms. “From where? Gimme a hint.”

  “Oh, we go waaaay back. Six years back, to be exact.”

  A poet. Charming. Six years was college; another lifetime ago. And those were the Sean years, so no wonder she didn’t remember him. “Did we live in the dorms together?”

  “No.”

  “Were you in one of my classes?”

  “Nope.” His eyes twinkled and he rubbed his hands together. “Guess again.”

  Really, he was acting rather needy for such an Adonis. She felt her attention wandering back to the ice cream. She’d probably forgotten him for a reason…

  He touched her arm, and she reined in her thoughts. “Here’s another hint,” he said. “We might have worked together.”

  Not much help. She’d worked many crappy jobs in college before she’d finally gained access to her inheritance. Paper route, McDonald’s, pizza delivery, waitress…She glanced at him. His eyes were an unusually dark shade of blue, and they seemed familiar. But no. The face, the body, didn’t fit. His confident smile faltered. She pictured those eyes surrounded by a pudgy face and stringy brown hair, and suddenly she was certain.

  “Mona’s Café, right?” His mouth dropped open, and she sighed. Pity. “Jeffrey? No, Jerry? Um—”

  “Jeremy! Jeremy Van der Wyden. How in the world? Nobody ever—I’m not that man anymore. Really.”

  “My goodness, but you’re looking well.”

  “I should be. I’ve lost over a hundred pounds.” He flexed a bicep, and the gesture was so transparently needy that she winced.

  “Good for you.” His voice wasn’t pleasant! It was nasally and petulant and he’d done a lot more than just lose weight. She bit back a smile as she mentally tore his looks apart. Try dyeing your hair, capping your teeth, and extensive plastic surgery, by the looks of it. Wonky hairline…Hair plugs? Almost certainly. Definitely a chin implant and a nose job, and maybe…maybe fake cheekbones…?

  “You look very different, but you still have those same pretty blue eyes. The
y gave you away.”

  “He blinked. “You like my eyes? You remember them?”

  “They’re very nice.” She opened the ice cream freezer and began moving cartons around to see what flavors were hidden in the back.

  “You look different too. Your hair though.…I really loved your long hair.”

  “Mmm-hmm.” Chocolate Crunch, Strawberry…

  “It was way better. More flattering. You should grow it back.”

  “Well, as I just cut it all off today, and I love it, that might be a while.” Mint chip…Maybe.

  “So. How’s Simon?”

  She didn’t pause in her search. “Simon and I broke up years ago.”

  “Really! Are you mar…um, are you seeing anyone?”

  She glanced over her shoulder at him. “Yeah. What about you?”

  “No. Wait, you are? Who? …I mean, is it serious?”

  “Sort of.”

  “What does ‘sort of’ mean? You’re either in a serious relationship or you’re not.”

  She turned back towards the ice cream again and then she was at the shore with Sean, walking hand in hand through the crashing surf, their children darting ahead, their daughter collecting shells, their son, Sean’s spitting image, tossing a stick to their champion Golden Retriever—

  “Ruby?”

  “Huh? Oh. Yes. It means yes, we’re serious. What are you up to these days?”

  She glanced down and saw it. One lone pint of chocolate mousse! She reached down and snagged it. What a find. They never stocked this flavor anymore. She straightened up, clutching the ice cream to her chest like a prize, and realized that she’d missed his reply almost entirely. She shut the door and turned to face him.

  “…designs. So, I joined a firm in Calua. You’re a cartoonist, right?”

  “You read my strip?”

  “I’ve been reading it a lot lately. Is Shelby based on you? You’re pretty famous, huh? ‘Left of Center’ is a big strip. Like ‘Garfield.’”

  She scowled. “No, not like ‘Garfield.’ My strip’s political.”

  “What a cool job. You must make tons of money. What’s that?”

  She looked around. “What’s what?”

  “That box you’re holding.”

  She remembered the ovulation kit and felt her face flush, but she fought back her embarrassment. She was an adult. She was allowed to buy this. “My business,” she said, palming the kit again. She took off walking, and he followed.

  “Ruby, wait.”

  She glanced over her shoulder. “Look, this ice cream’s gonna melt—”

  “You tryin’ to get pregnant?”

  His face was dark. She glared at him without answering, and he softened his tone.

  “It’s okay if you are.”

  She nodded. “You’re right. It is. Thanks for noticing.” She stopped at the end of the aisle, and he stopped with her.

  “Whelp, it’s been nice seeing you again. Take care.” She turned to go, and he fell into step beside her.

  “I’ll walk you to your car.”

  “What about your shopping?”

  He waved away the half-full cart he’d left behind in the aisle. “It’s fine. I’ll come back later. Maybe you and I can go grab a pizza or something?”

  She held up the kit and walked faster. “Boyfriend.”

  “Just as friends.”

  She was on her way to Hilary’s, chocolate mousse ice cream was her favorite, the store never carried it, and there was just no way she was putting it back to go eat pizza with this dork. “I have a ton of work to do tonight.”

  “Another time? I’d love to see your studio; see how you work. It’s so nice to meet another artist.”

  “You’re an artist too?” She got in the express line behind a short woman with a cart full of toilet paper.

  “I just told you I’m an architect.”

  She silently counted the cases as the woman unloaded her cart. Seven. Seven cases of toilet paper and nothing else. What in the world was she doing buying all that toilet paper? Big family? Loose bowels?

  She grinned at Jeremy, but his arms were crossed, face, stormy. “…don’t think being an architect qualifies me as an artist?”

  “It’s what you think that matters.”

  “Can I get your number?” He pulled out his phone.

  She sighed, having been expecting this. Her home number was her junk one, connected to an answering machine so she could screen calls. He could have it. She rattled it off, and he frowned before punching it in. She noticed that he typed her full name into his contacts, Ruby Deardon. But she hadn’t told him her last name, or any name, and she went by Ruby Dear for her cartoon…She shivered.

  “Cellphone?”

  “Yes, I have one,” she agreed, patting her purse. His face flushed red as he put his phone away.

  She glanced at T.P. woman again and felt a cartoon shaping up in her head. Her character Shelby would be buying toilet paper in bulk, and people would be staring, and she could say to the cashier, in an embarrassed whisper, “I eat a lot of bran.” She liked it. She’d save it and make it one of her short filler cartoons for a week when she was hard up for story lines.

  She fished her notebook out of her purse and scribbled this down in its entirety. She read it over once silently. Thank you T.P. woman. Thanks for the—

  “What’re you writing?”

  Jeremy’s voice intruded on her moment. He leaned over her shoulder, and she quickly snapped the notebook closed and crammed it back in her purse. “Cartoon idea.”

  “That’s so interesting. Is it about me?

  “Could be.”

  “I’d love to be a character in your cartoon.”

  “…Why aren’t we moving?” She craned her neck around T.P. woman. Great. A homeless guy trying to pay for dog food and cheap wine with an EBT card. They could be here all night.

  She looked around hopelessly at the long lines. “Why don’t they open another lane?”

  “Oh, I’m happy to wait,” Jeremy said. “The longer I spend with you, the better.”

  She jerked her head up. “We met two minutes ago.”

  “Actually, we’re old friends.”

  “Actually, we’re not.”

  “We could skip the pizza and get a cup of coffee, or—”

  “I can’t.”

  The homeless man finally paid, and Ruby shifted her attention back to T.P. woman, taking her in.

  The woman was short and heavy through the middle, with long, shiny, black hair that was just starting to go gray, dark skin, and a round face. She wore a plaid work shirt over skinny jeans, and the shirt hung from her enormous breasts making her look larger than she probably was. The woman turned, and Ruby finally got a good look at her face. She gasped. This woman was Sean Chaplin’s mother! She’d met her only once, years before, but she had paid close attention to her future mother-in-law. How perfect! The hand of Providence was at work.

  “…Gretchen broke things off, and—” Jeremy droned on.

  She had to get rid of him.

  “Jeremy, I forgot to get apples. Would you mind grabbing some red ones?”

  He grinned, basking in her returned attention. “Sure. How many you want?”

  “Four or five,” she said as she watched the homeless man limp away with his purchases stuffed in his backpack.

  “I’ll be back in a flash.” He took off striding towards the produce department at the opposite end of the store. As soon as he was out of sight, she turned back towards Sean’s mother.

  Now, how to play this? Obviously, she couldn’t introduce herself. If she did that, she could never pretend that she and Sean had met again in some fated, random meeting. Hmmmm.

  She was still contemplating her options when the cashier finished ringing up the toilet paper and said, “Do you have your Club Card, Janice?” Sean’s mother smiled. “No, it’s so worn, I keep meaning to get a new one. Number’s 555-9356.” The cashier punched it in, and Ruby’s eyes grew wide with
her unexpected good fortune. She took a half step away and fumbled her phone out of her purse, chanting this new and precious information to herself. Janice Chaplin, 555-9356. 555-9356. 555-9356. She punched it into her contact list with shaking hands.

  The address! Maybe she could get her address! His mom’s wallet lay open in her purse in the seat of the cart, her driver’s license visible…Ruby sidled up beside the cart to take a picture, but his mom turned around and stared hard at her. Ruby said, “Excuse me,” and reached past her for a soap opera magazine. His mom turned back around and collected her receipt, and Ruby threw the stupid magazine on the counter beside her ice cream and her kit. Dammit.

  She heard someone come up behind her and then Jeremy was there setting her bag of apples on top of her magazine. “Here ya go, Ruby,” he said, putting his hands on her shoulders.

  She shrugged away from his touch. How had he gotten back so fast? The bag boy, in a wet raincoat, took Sean’s mother’s cart, escorting her toward the doors.

  The cashier rang up Ruby’s items quickly enough but spent way too long bagging such a small number of items because she couldn’t stop staring at Jeremy and salivating. The ice cream had a bag, the apples, a bag, the kit, another bag, the magazine, a separate bag. Hurry up already!

  Ruby snatched her receipt, grabbed the bags and took off jogging for the doors, Jeremy loping along beside her. “What’s the rush?”

  They stepped outside and she immediately hunched her shoulders against the cold, drizzling rain, although they were still protected by the overhang. She zipped her jacket closed around her and did a quick search of the dark parking lot. Where was she—there! Mrs. Chaplin was in the other corner of the lot, awkwardly holding an umbrella and watching the bag boy load toilet paper into her green SUV. Not exactly the vehicle she would have expected this woman, with all of her toilet paper, to drive. Maybe Sean had bought it for her with all his fabulous earnings from his Nobel Prize in math? …Did they even have a Nobel Prize in math? Or maybe he’d gone into computers. She was sure he was at least a millionaire by now.

  Ruby was parked on the opposite end of the lot. She turned to Jeremy to say a quick good-bye and bumped into him. He’d been standing, literally, right behind her, and after she bumped him, he didn’t take a step back as she expected. Instead, he grasped her upper arm. Hard. “There must be something I can tempt you with,” he said. She could hear the desperation in his voice. “You name it. We could go for a drive, or to the hot tub place, or—”