“What else happened? Did you get any other notes?”
"Yeah, the next week there was a single rose tucked into the side of one of the bird feeders with a small note attached. It said…" She blows out a breath before continuing. "It said, 'You're like a flower. I can make you bloom for me or trample you underfoot. The choice is yours.'"
“Motherfucker,” I growl, gripping the steering wheel with one hand while clutching Spencer with the other.
“So that’s when I told my dad.”
“What did he say?”
“He…” Spencer trails off, considering my question. “I guess I thought he would be more upset. He’s so paranoid about everything where I’m concerned, but now that I think about it, he didn’t look shocked. He looked...determined, I guess. I don’t know. It’s hard to read him sometimes.”
I grunt in acknowledgment, gathering up more information to pick apart later.
After a few minutes of silence, I look over at Spencer, wanting her to continue. She yawns and snuggles deeper into my side, if that's possible. I want to hear more, but I can tell she's about to pass out from exhaustion.
“Close your eyes, sweetheart. Just a few more hours now.” As if waiting for my permission, Spencer flutters her eyes closed. I smile to myself when I hear her soft snores.
Two hours later, I'm pulling into the safe house. Spencer woke up a few times but went back to sleep about thirty minutes ago, this time curling up on the other side of her seat.
I shut off the car and quietly step out, shutting the door and locking the vehicle so Spencer is safe inside but can get out if she wakes up and panics.
After a quick sweep of the perimeter and the cabin, I come back out to the car and gently open her door, unbuckling her seatbelt and scooping her up into my arms. She automatically curls up against my chest, resting her head on my shoulder. Goddamn, it feels good to hold her again.
I carry her up the stairs, through the cabin, until I reach the bedroom. There’s only one, which means I’ll be folding my six and a half-foot frame onto the tiny couch in the living room, but that’s alright. I’ve slept in worse places for far less worthy causes.
Pulling back the covers, I carefully set my sleeping angel down on the mattress before taking her shoes off and tucking her in. It’s just past four in the afternoon, but Spencer needs her rest after the long day she had. Fuck, I need to sleep too, but I’m far too jacked up on adrenaline to sit still longer than I already did in the car, let alone close my eyes.
I stand beside the bed, watching over Spencer as she snuggles further into the blankets. “Sweet dreams, angel,” I whisper, leaning over to kiss her forehead. The softest little sigh leaves her lips, making my heart clench up tight. She likes forehead kisses and rubbing noses. I’ll add that to the list of things that make her feel better.
Reluctantly, I make my way out of the bedroom, making sure to leave the door open a crack. I don’t want her to feel trapped or wake up confused and thinking she’s locked in the room.
While my girl sleeps soundly, I get to work researching Marcus and everyone he’s done business with since he got out of the military. Something’s not adding up and I intend to find out exactly what it is.
8
Spencer
I wake up in a pitch-black room with my heart hammering against my ribcage.
Where am I? Did my stalker kidnap me? Oh God, what if I never see Logan again?
Memories of yesterday come rushing back to me. Logan hugged me and calmed me down after my panic attack. He wrapped me up in a blanket and listened to me cry about my mom. And then he kissed me. Lord, did the man kiss me.
My cheeks heat up at the memory of his rough hands roaming over my body and tangling in my hair. The way his tongue slid against mine, his tortured groans as he took and took and took from me. I wanted him to have it all. Everything. I think I would have straddled the man and given him my virginity if he hadn’t stopped us.
It finally hits me. I’m in the safe house.
I take a deep breath and release the tension in my muscles. Looking around the room, I try to locate an alarm clock or something to tell me what time it is.
I don’t have my phone since Logan took out the SIM card and broke it into a million pieces before crushing the phone itself. I was shocked, to say the least, but then he explained he didn’t want anyone to track me.
Sitting up in bed, I turn toward the lone window on the opposite wall. I can only see a hint of moonlight streaming through the thick forest outside. It must be late. I’ve probably slept for hours. The rumbling in my tummy confirms that I haven’t eaten in a while.
I flop back down on the mattress and close my eyes, willing sleep to come. Every few seconds, however, I peek my eyes open and scan the room, looking for any monsters hiding in the shadows.
Ever since the car accident, I’ve been afraid of the dark. It’s usually not crippling or anything like that, but I do sleep with a nightlight and sometimes leave a lamp on if I’m feeling particularly vulnerable. Add on to that a stalker I know next to nothing about, and yeah, I’m on edge and paranoid in this dark room.
I clench my fists and blow out another breath, then try counting down from one hundred, like my therapist taught me all those years ago. I’m at sixty eight when something scratches the window.
I pull the blankets over my head and cower under them, trying not to breathe. After a few seconds, the small space becomes suffocating. Slowly, so slowly, I pull the covers down, venturing a glance at the window.
Every muscle in my body relaxes when I see it’s just a branch scratching the window as it’s blown in the breeze.
“You’re fine,” I whisper to myself.
The branch scrapes against the window again and I jump, barely suppressing a whimper.
I throw the covers back and sit up. Maybe a glass of water would help. As much as I hate the idea of walking around the dark cabin, I’m going to drive myself crazy staying in here by myself with the scratchy window.
The door is slightly ajar, which I appreciate. Something tells me Logan did it on purpose. The man is nothing if not observant and detail oriented. Just one more reason to love him.
Love?
But it’s true. I’ve always loved him. I don’t know how or when it happened, exactly, but the thought of leaving this man is so painful I feel tears well up in my eyes. I’m crazy for having these thoughts, and certainly for having these intense feelings about Logan. I just hope I can convince him to love me as well.
Tiptoeing into the hallway, I’m relieved to see a faint light coming from what I assume is the living room. I walk in that direction, then stop when I see Logan’s massive frame stretched out on the thick rug in front of the fireplace.
It looks like he tried sleeping on the couch, but of course he didn’t fit. Guilt sits heavy in my stomach. I didn’t know there was only one bed. Then again, I was passed out when Logan carried me inside, but still. He’s worked so hard protecting me and chasing away the threat to my safety. He deserves to sleep in the bed.
Before I know what’s happening, I’m shuffling toward him. I don’t know what my plan is. Should I wake him up? Tell him to go sleep in the bed? It’s not like he would agree to that anyway, I just know it.