Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 74125 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74125 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
“That’s not necessary,” she grumbles, her face flushing as she glances at the khaki shirt and pants she’d been wearing when she left the prison. She also had a box with a few books, but it was mostly filled with letters and drawings from her son, Aaron.
“I don’t mind,” I assure her. “Lord knows I’ve got way too many clothes to begin with.”
“That’s nice of you,” she mutters, ducking her head to stare out the window. Then she adds, “Thanks.”
Smiling, I turn my attention to Kynan, only to find him watching me curiously. He still has his headphones on so he couldn’t hear what we were just talking about. Not that it was a matter of national security.
Although if it was, I bet he’d already know about it. Given his impressive connections and all.
♦
I wondered what I’d be feeling when I pulled up to my house, having last left in a police car. They took me down to the precinct station about two miles from my house for a detailed interview. I refused medical attention, despite the fact I’d already had extreme bruising around my throat. I just wanted to get the interview done, so I could get to the airport and head to Vegas and Kynan.
As Kynan shuts off the rental car we’d picked up at the airport and I open the passenger door, Lynn comes out of my house. When I’d talked to her yesterday from Pittsburgh, she assured me she’d have the house ready for my arrival.
I knew what that meant. Not only would she have the place cleaned and the guest rooms freshened up with new sheets and towels, but she’d have all evidence of my attack erased. Broken glass from his entrance and black fingerprint dust would be eradicated so as not to distress me. Lynn was much more than a manager to me. She was my friend. She’d go above and beyond to make my homecoming as easy as possible.
Lynn comes off the porch and down the short, curved sidewalk that connects to the driveway. She’s fifty-seven years old, rounder than she’d like, and wears her silvery-gray hair in a short cap. Her arms open, and I step into her embrace. “Glad to have you back, honey.”
“Thanks for handling everything.” I give her a hard squeeze before I pull away.
Turning to my new guests, I introduce my manager. “Lynn… this is Kynan McGrath and Bebe Grimshaw from Jameson Force Security.”
If Lynn is flummoxed by Kynan’s insanely gorgeous looks or by the fact Bebe is in a prison uniform, she doesn’t show a hint of discord. She smiles, shakes hands, and then motions us into my home.
It’s a shame, really. I had hoped this house was going to be my last purchase until I was perhaps ready to retire. It was my third move in two years, attempting to throw my stalker off my trail. I bought it under a blind trust so my name wouldn’t be associated with it at all. I had my realtor sign a non-disclosure as well as the movers I’d hired. Even my utilities were under an alias.
And still… he found me.
“I took the liberty of ordering some food for all of you,” Lynn says as she opens the front door and leads us in.
This place really was sort of my dream home. Just under five thousand square feet and a Santa Barbara zip code, it sits in a prime location with views of both the mountains and the ocean. It’s bright and airy with wood beam ceilings, expansive windows, and French doors in every exterior room that leads to private balconies.
Oh, and it has a panic room, which was very appealing to me.
We follow Lynn into the French-country style kitchen I adore. She called my favorite catering company, and the counter is loaded with a variety of salads, grilled kabobs, fresh fruit, and mini key lime pies.
“Thank you so much, Lynn,” I say as I walk over to a cupboard and pull out some plates. When I turn around, Kynan is letting his gaze roam around while Bebe has her hands clasped tightly in front of her, appearing incredibly awkward.
“What do you guys want to drink?” I ask as Lynn heads to the fridge. “I’ve got water, soda, beer, or wine.”
“I’ll take a soda,” Bebe replies eagerly, and I wonder what it will taste like after seven years of prison food and drink.
“I’ll be back,” Kynan says. He disappears into the dining room, which leads into a formal living room.
I set the plates down, intent on following him, but Bebe shakes her head. “Let him check your place out. It’s his job.”
A bolt of fear hits me in the gut like a sucker punch. I almost double over as I realize… my stalker could actually be in my house right now. We all assumed he’s off hiding and licking his wounds, but he’s also bat-shit crazy so why wouldn’t he be here, waiting for me to return?