“So, have you made any new friends?” he asks me.
That comes out of left field. Cole knows my reason for coming out here was to be alone. That making friends is not part of my plan.
I’m trying to not freak out that he asked the question. But it’s weird that I have only recently just met Jack and then Cole asks me that.
Not that Jack and I are friends.
Far from it.
Either it’s a coincidence or my brother is psychic.
I don’t believe in coincidences, so I’m going with psychic. He always does seem to know my business.
“Nope.” I let the P pop. I’m not fessing up to him, psychic or not. “You know that I’m not here to make friends.”
“I know. I just wondered if that had changed. You can’t stay away from people forever, Audrey.”
“Yes, I can.”
He sighs. “Isn’t there anyone at work who you talk with?”
Not more than a few sentences.
“Nope. That’s the beauty of working in a library. It’s silent. No one talks.”
“Audrey …”
“And anyway, I don’t need anyone, except for my big brother.”
There’s silence, and if I couldn’t hear him breathing, I would think the line had been cut.
“You know I love you, right?”
I smile. “Love you too, Cole. I’m going to head off now. A hot bath is calling my name.”
“Call me in a week.”
It’s not a request.
I roll my eyes, not that he can see, and say, “Yes, Drill Sergeant.”
Cole laughs. We say our good-byes, and I hang up the phone.
I go straight to the bathroom and put the tub plug in. After turning the hot and cold taps on, I pour some bubble bath in.
I wander into my bedroom, tossing my cell onto the bed. I lift my top, ready to take it off, when I hear a noise that stops me dead in my tracks.
Slowly, I lower my top back down and strain my ears to listen over the sound of the running taps.
It’s like … a tapping … no, a scratching noise.
Cold slivers down my spine.
My head swivels, my eyes looking around my bedroom and my ears trying to locate the source of the sound.
But it’s hard when my pulse is pounding loudly along with my heart.
I reach out, grabbing my cell off the bed. Pressing the off button to bring up the emergency call service.
It sounds like it’s coming from the living room.
Phone in hand, I walk quietly down the hall, going toward the living room, in the direction of the sound.
My eyes zero in on the front door.
The noise is coming from there.
Someone is outside my door.
Shit.
A dozen memories assault my mind, making me feel sick and dizzy.
Not again. Please not again.
Calm down, Audrey. Tobias is in prison.
You’re safe. It is not happening again.
Scratch. Scratch.
I need to just check this out.
It’s probably nothing.
Hand curled around my phone, I walk on silent feet to the door. Rise up on my tiptoes and look through the peephole.
The hallway is empty.
Scratch. Scratch.
I jump back. Heart pounding.
Jesus.
I need to call the police.
And say what?
There’s a scratching noise outside my door. Please come quickly.
I would sound like a crazy person.
I am a crazy person.
And it’s not like I can call anyone to come check it out.
The only person I have is Cole, and he is hundreds of miles away with no clue as to where I am.
Well done, Audrey.
I could just ignore it.
I could just sit on the sofa and wait it out.
I have lived through this crap once. I know not what to do.
But …
I still have to know.
If someone has somehow found me.
If this has anything to do with Tobias.
I have to know.
For fuck’s sake.
I really hate me sometimes.
Keeping a firm hold on my cell, my finger hovers close to the emergency button.
I open the dead bolts, one after the other.
Please don’t let this be starting again.
I unlatch the chain and turn the lock.
The click sounds loud in the silence. I hear it over the pulse beating in my ears.
I take hold of the door handle.
One. Two. Three.
I push down and yank open the door.
And something runs past me, bumping against my leg.
“Argh!” I yelp, tossing my phone in the air.
Eleven.
It’s the damn cat.
All that stress, and it was a cat scratching on my front door.
I let out a laugh that is half-relief, half-embarrassment at my own behavior.
Jesus, I’m such a mess.
“Christ, Eleven.”
She’s already sitting up on my sofa, looking pleased with herself.
“You scared the crap out of me.” I run a hand over my hair. Grab my phone off the floor, push it in my back pocket, and shut the door, locking it.
I walk over to the sofa and pick her up. “What the heck are you doing out again? Where’s your dad, huh?”
She purrs and nuzzles my face.
“It’s a good thing you’re cute,” I tell her. “Come on. Let’s go take you back to your dad.”
I make sure to go turn the bath taps off. The last thing I need is to flood my apartment.
The trepidation is still there when I open the door to exit my apartment. I think it will always be there.
I lock up and head for Jack’s apartment.
I’m going to see Jack.
A frisson of excitement bounces around in my stomach.
I immediately squash it down.
I’m just going to return Eleven and then go back to my apartment and finally take my bath.
I notice Jack’s apartment door is slightly ajar as I approach.
My heart stills at the same time my legs do.
Seriously, isn’t one stressful situation at a time enough?
Okay, so it was the cat.
And it could be the cat again. Maybe she let herself out of the apartment.
Cats can do that, right? Open doors and shit? They’re smart. And Eleven is definitely smart.
“Did you open the door, Eleven?” I look down at her, like she’s actually going to answer me.
Her response is to butt my chin with her head.
I take a deep breath and walk toward Jack’s door, stopping before it.
“Hello?” I call out. “Jack? You there?”
Nothing. It’s silent in his apartment too. No sounds coming from there at all.
“Why me, huh?” I say to Eleven, who looks as if she has zero cares in the world—and she has exactly that because she’s a cat.
Frigging wish I were a cat right now.
Stepping closer to the door, I push it open with the hand not holding Eleven.
“Jack!” I call out.
No answer.
“For fuck’s sake,” I mutter. “Looks like I’m going in.”
I don’t have my rape alarm on me.
My phone is in my pocket though. I get it out and get it ready for a call to 911 if necessary.
One day into knowing Jack, and look what’s happening already.
My life has been peaceful these past six months. And now, it’s been disrupted by a cute cat and her hot owner.
Listen to me. Potentially dangerous situation, and I’m thinking about Jack being hot.
I need my head checked.
Nothing new there.
Taking a deep breath, I step inside Jack’s apartment.
His apartment mirrors mine.
> Except there are boxes in his living room. He did say he moved in a short time ago. A brown leather sofa. A large screen TV sitting on a wooden sideboard.
“Jack,” I call out again.
Still nothing.
I walk carefully through the living room, heading to the small hall that I know will lead to the bedroom and bathroom.
Both doors are open.
One wide open, showing me it’s the bathroom, and it’s empty of Jack.
The other, only slightly ajar.
Which is his bedroom.
I knock on the door. “Jack?”
Still no answer.
I slowly push open the door with my hand.
The bedroom is empty too.
“Why are you in my apartment?” The deep voice comes from behind me.
I simultaneously scream and spin on the spot. In turn causing Eleven to freak out. She ejects from my arms and bolts. I feel a sharp pain on my arm. But my heart is beating too hard, adrenaline rushing through my body too quickly for me to pay it any attention.
“Jesus! Jack!” I press my hand to my chest. I’m panting, out of breath, like I just ran a marathon.
Jack is staring at me with a mixture of amusement curling his mouth and apprehension in his eyes.
Which makes sense. Because he just found his neighbor, whom he met only yesterday, standing in his bedroom.
“S-sorry,” I stammer. “Eleven was at my door, scratching it, and I was ju-just bringing her back to you. Your door was open, and I called your name, but you didn’t answer. I was worried, so I came in to check that you weren’t hurt or anything. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It’s not every day I come home to find a pretty girl in my bedroom.”
Unease slides down my spine, freezing my body up, at the same time my brain registers that Jack thinks I’m pretty.
The unease must show on my face though because the smile on his face disappears, and he’s quick to say, “Sorry, that was a bad pun.”
“Oh. Oh, okay. Right.” I fidget nervously. “Will Eleven be okay?”
“Yeah. She’ll be fine now. Not much fazes her.”
He backs up, walking out of his bedroom, and I follow him through to the living room.
And there, chilling on the sofa, is Eleven.
“Told you.” He smiles in the direction of his cat.
I look over at Eleven. “Sorry I scared you, cutie.”
“I thought I had shut the door,” Jack says to me, heading into the open-plan kitchen. “I must not have latched it properly.”
My legs stop in the living room, but my eyes follow him to the kitchen. “You didn’t lock it?” I ask, confused.
“No.” He shakes his head. “I just popped downstairs to see Mr. McCluskey.”
Mr. McCluskey is the live-in handyman in our apartment building.
There used to be a time when I would have left the door unlocked to pop downstairs. Back when I feared nothing because I didn’t know better.
Now, I fear everything, and I can’t even step out into the hall without locking up behind me.
“The shower has been acting up,” he continues, reaching into a cupboard and pulling out two mugs. “Can I get you a coffee? Tea?” He holds the mugs up.
“Oh. Erm …”
If I take a drink, then I’ll have to stay. Sit down. Make conversation. Talk about myself. He might ask questions …
“No, thank you. I should get back.” I’m already walking to the door.
“Oh. Okay. Sure.” He seems surprised by my answer.
Maybe he’s used to women wanting to stay around him. I would if I were still the old Audrey. I would have even had my flirt on the moment I met him. But not now.
I’m not even sure I know how to flirt anymore.
“Well, thanks for looking out for Eleven. Again,” he adds.
I pause by the now-closed door and glance over at him. He’s leaning against the kitchen countertop, facing me.
“It’s fine.” I tuck some stray hairs behind my ear.
“You’re bleeding.” Jack is already moving toward me, concern etched on his face.
“Huh?” I lower my arm, twisting it around, and see a big scratch down the outer side of my forearm, blood trickling from it.
Before I register what is actually happening, Jack takes ahold of my arm, cupping the elbow in his hand, his other hand curled around mine, and he guides me to the kitchen.
I try not to pay attention to how large his hand is, compared to mine. Or how it feels to have his skin touching mine.
Jack is touching me.
“I’m okay. Really.” I try to tug my arm free, but he keeps a firm but gentle hold of it.
“Let me clean you up. Eleven must have scratched you when I scared you both.”
“It was my fault. I screamed and scared her. I shouldn’t have been in here—”
His eyes fix on mine. My heart jumps into my throat.
“You were being a good person.” He squeezes my elbow and then releases his hold on me. “Just wait there a second.”
I watch, a little dumbstruck, as he backs up out of the kitchen and goes into the living room. I want to tell him that I’m not a good person. I’m the kind of person who gets people murdered.
Jack rummages around in one of the boxes and pulls out a first aid kit a few moments later.
I avert my eyes as he walks back to me, pretending like I find the floor insanely fascinating.
He stops in front of me, putting the first aid kit on the counter beside me.
God, he smells good. Like the outdoors. Cedar wood and something inherently male.
My ovaries shimmy with happiness.
Down, girls. It ain’t happening.
He rips open an antiseptic wipe, bringing my eyes to his hands and forearms. They’re strong and tanned.
He takes hold of my arm again. “This will sting.”
I lift my eyes to his face. His eyes are already on mine.
My heart putters to a stop.
“You ready?” he asks me.
All I can do is nod.
The first brush of the wipe over the cut stings like a bitch, but I take it like a woman.
I have experienced far worse than this in the past.
“Okay?” he checks as he continues to wipe over the scratch.
I find my voice and answer, “Yes.” Although it comes out sounding a little hoarse.
He lifts my arm up, examining it. And I can’t stop looking at his face. It’s like I no longer have control over my eyes.
“The scratch is too long to put a Band-Aid on,” he tells me. “So, you’ll have to leave it uncovered. I just wanted to get it cleaned up fast, make sure it doesn’t get infected.”
His eyes flick to mine, and I look away, caught.
My pulse is pounding, and I can feel my cheeks starting to heat. “I’ll be fine.”
I tug my arm free, and he lets it go this time.
“Thank you … for helping me with the scratch.” I skirt around him, ensuring not to touch one single part of his body with mine.
“No problem.” His voice hits my back as I head for the door.
I pull it open and walk through it, closing it behind me.
I practically sprint to my apartment. Let myself inside and lock up behind me.
I fall back against the door.
Jesus. I’m such a freak. I didn’t even say good-bye. Just hightailed it out of there.
Jack must think I’m a crazy person.
Good. It’s good if he thinks that.
Then, he’ll stay away, and that is what I want.
Right?
Right.
On a sigh, I push off the door and go and do my usual check of my apartment before I continue with running my bath.
My eyes sweep up and down him. He’s wearing that beaten leather jacket that he always wears. Dark blue jeans. A gray henley shirt. Biker boots on his feet.
He looks hot, like usual.
It’s disconcer
ting, to say the least.
So is the fact that I’m seeing him again.
It was only yesterday when I was in his apartment.
He sees me, eyes locking on to mine, and smiles.
“Hi again,” he says, approaching me.
“Why is it that, less than a week ago, I had never seen you before, and now, I can’t go anywhere without seeing you?”
He stops a few feet from me. Lips parted slightly, like I’ve shocked him into silence.
Did I actually just say that?
I couldn’t have just said hello and been on my way?
But seriously, I go from never seeing this guy to seeing him wherever I go.
It’s … weird.
And I have lived weird, so I know what to look for. And it’s this.
He’s at my place of work—it’s a public building, but that doesn’t count. My apartment building—okay, he lives there, too, so I’ll give him that. But the coffee shop and now the grocery store?
I can go weeks. Months. Without seeing the same person again.
Granted, I avoid people at all costs.
But him? He is everywhere I go.
They’re either coincidences—and I’m not a big believer in that—or he’s following me.
So, I have to go with, he’s following me.
Look … I know I’m a suspicious person nowadays. But come on. Any normal person would feel creeped out by this, wouldn’t they?
Or was that just incredibly rude of me?
He cleaned my arm up yesterday after Eleven scratched it. He didn’t have to do that.
God, I’m such a bitch.
If my adoptive mom could hear me now, she would be so disappointed.
Ashamed, I wince, my eyes closing briefly before opening back up. I look him in the eye. “That was really rude of me. I apologize.”
His eyes are watchful, appraising. Like he’s making his mind up about something. Quite likely me and whether he thinks I’m a dick. It would be no surprise if he thought I was a dick.
“Don’t apologize. It was honest. I like honesty in a person. And I agree; it is odd that we keep running into each other. Do you believe in fate, Audrey?”
Every time he says my name, I feel … shook. Like I was just swept up by a wave and tossed around in the sea, swallowing a mouthful of salt water just for good measure.
I shake my head by way of an answer. My mouth isn’t working right this second.
He grins. “Me either. We’ll just call it coincidence then.”
“I don’t believe in that either.”
Dead Pretty Page 3