Woof! Woof-woof!
“Yes I’ll ask Chance to bring Pebbles and Bamm-Bamm too.”
Woof!
I swear Trident just said Yippie!
“Who knew you were such a dog whisperer, Tink.”
I shut the lid on my laptop, not wanting her to see the profiles of who we believe are our lead suspects in her case. She was so upset earlier, and I don’t want anything to wipe away the beaming smile she has going on at the moment.
“You joke, Hook.” She flashes me her dimples over her shoulder before going back to preparing her coffee. “But my boy totally understands me.” She bends to scratch Trident behind the ears. “Right, baby? You know what your mommy is saying, don’t you?”
The dog licks up the entire side of Maddey’s face, and her responding laughter is music to my ears. I hold up my hands in surrender when she hits me with one of her See? Told you looks.
“You’re insane, you know that right?” The quirk to my lips gives away how entertained I am.
“This isn’t some shocking revelation or anything. You did grow up with me.”
That’s right. You did grow up with her. I should be court-martialed for the thoughts I’ve had about her.
I clear my throat and roll my shoulders back, needing to corral my errant thoughts. We cannot have another close call like earlier. I’m here to do a job, not do Maddey.
Maybe it will eventually stick if I keep reminding myself of that fact.
“I’m not sure what your G.I. Joe plans for the day are”—she circles a hand in the direction of the laptop on the counter—“but I’m going to Jake and Jordan’s.” Travel mug of coffee in hand, she starts down the hallway to the front of the house and calls over her shoulder, “You’re welcome to join if you want.”
I force my gaze off of the sway of her hips in her tiny cutoff shorts, and I don’t notice the way her gauzy white top drapes off her shoulders or that the hem of it is high enough to show a hint of her toned stomach when she moves.
No. Nope. I don’t notice any of that.
She chats with Trident the whole way, the pooch staying obediently by her side and hanging on her every word if his answering barks are any indication.
The dog picks up on her shift in demeanor a fraction of a second before I do. Maddey’s steps come to a halt and all the joy is leached from her face as she riffles through the mail in her hands.
I’m at her side in an instant, my arm wrapping around her back and tugging her against my side.
I glance down, but there is nothing outwardly threatening about the nondescript white envelope and printed label with Maddey’s information.
“Maddey?” She’s like a block of ice in my arms.
“D-do you have gloves in your spy kit?” Her attempt at humor fails with the way her voice wavers.
“Yes.” I hope the no-nonsense way I say the word reminds her that she isn’t in this alone anymore. I’ve got her six.
“Can you get them and open this?” Barely pinching the envelope between her fingertips, she holds it out to me, watching it as if were a snake waiting to strike.
“You think this is from your stalker?” My head is on a swivel as if I expect to see the person inside the room with us.
“I don’t know.” She shudders, pressing into me harder. “But all the other notes I received were like this. Generic envelope, typed label, no return address—pretty much anything they could do to make it untraceable.”
It is harder than it should be to let her go to grab a pair of gloves, but I do it. We need to know if this is a real threat. The rock in my gut tells me it is, but Maddey can no longer bury her head in the sand with this. It is time to face this head on.
Needing to keep her close, for her sake and for my own sanity, I thread my fingers through hers and tug her along with me.
Gloves in place, I take the offensive object and slip my thumb under the edge. The tear of the paper is deafening in the otherwise silent room, our eyes trained on the action.
Gingerly, I pull the contents free, set the envelope off to the side on the counter, and unfurl the trifold paper. I drop it as if burned when I see the typed message.
Tsk, tsk, tsk, Madison Belle
You know the only Beast that is supposed
to be warming your bed is me.
I am very disappointed.
Don’t worry…I’m really good at hunting.
There’s a gasp and then Maddey is suctioning herself to me again. This time I’m unable to appreciate how her soft curves feel molding to all my hard edges because I’m too busy seething.
There is so much wrong with what I’ve just read I’m not sure where to begin.
1. The letter itself.
2. It being delivered to her home. Yes, I know things coming here instead of her PO box was part of why I was called in, but it still bothers me.
3. The fact that this motherfucker not only called her by her real name, but also used her middle name.
4. The perversion of her Disney love.
5. That this fucker knows I’m staying here.
6. The threat now against me, though this is the least of my concerns. I wish this guy would come at me. I long to show him the error of his ways.
If all that isn’t enough, the part that troubles me the most isn’t the reference to Maddey and me having a sexual relationship. No, it’s how the stalker is taking a turn for the personal, stating that Maddey is his and insinuating a sexual relationship with him.
Over my dead fucking body.
Chapter Eighteen
What in the actual fuck?
This is an entirely new level of fucked up. I can’t even.
Sure, I told Dex the things I’ve received started to take a turn for the Maddey McClain versus the Belle Willis, but this is the first time I’ve actually been addressed as myself. To say it’s freaking me the fuck out would be like saying Mickey is only a mouse—understatement of the century.
I have so many questions.
Who is this person?
Why are they doing this?
What is their endgame?
But the one running on repeat is: How does this person know about Dex staying here?
And don’t even get me started on the whole Misery-turn of how I should be with this sicko. This is the first time in my life I’m grateful for my brothers’ overprotectiveness, because if I didn’t have Dex to literally latch onto at the moment, I might be a complete basket case.
My breathing is erratic and I can hear my pulse beating in my ears, but with my arms wrapped around his washboard stomach like a vise, I’m able to stay just on this side of the panic line.
“I’m calling Justin and Paul,” Dex says as he gently places the letter down.
If he’s looking for an argument from me, he’s not going to get it. This is no longer the time for me to be stubborn. Shit just got serious.
“And your dad.”
Another nod. I don’t expect them to be able to do anything more than they already have, but we need to utilize every resource.
“Go put some shoes on.”
I bend my knee and point at the white Uptown sneaker wedges on my feet, my anklets sliding up my leg as my foot hits my butt. “Are these not shoes?”
Unless I’m on the beach or working out, if I’m wearing footwear, it has a heel, platform, or wedge.