Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 60904 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60904 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
I lean forward, pinning her with an incisive stare. “Have you received any messages like this before?”
“No.”
She’s being cagey.
That’s okay. I can handle her reticence. She thinks she doesn’t know me. She can’t trust me yet.
“I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me,” I say, keeping my practiced English accent smooth and cultured.
“I didn’t ask for your help.”
I lift my brows. “Are you planning to go to the police?”
That would complicate my plans for her, but before I can worry about a potential investigation, she replies, “No.”
I tap the phone. “You have a stalker, Lena. This isn’t something to be ignored.”
She’s brave, but surely, she has some sense of self preservation. I know all too well that Karolina is a survivor. She’ll fight for herself if necessary.
She doesn’t know that I’ll gladly fight all of her battles for her.
“This isn’t any of your business,” she counters. Her voice is calm, but her fingers twist in her lap—she’s anxious despite her attempt at composure.
“I’m making it my business. Why won’t you go to the police? Is someone intimidating you into staying silent?”
She shifts in her seat and cuts her gaze away. “I really don’t want to talk to you about this.”
That surprises me. She’s fiercely independent, but I hadn’t anticipated this much resistance to my offer of support.
“Why not?”
She sighs. “I barely know you. Why would I come to you for anything, much less a private matter like this?”
I tap the phone again. “I won’t leave you to fend for yourself. Why won’t you go to the police?”
She eyes me warily, and I hate the distrust in her guarded expression.
“I promise nothing you say will leave this room,” I vow. “But you need some sort of protection. A stalker has your number. This person is a killer, and they’re watching you.”
She wrings her hands, even though her expression remains carefully impassive.
It takes all my willpower to stay seated when all I want is to gather her in my arms and promise her that everything is okay.
I simply regard her calmly and allow the silence to stretch between us.
Finally, she admits, “I’m worried about losing my visa if I go to the police. I don’t want to be involved in anything illegal.”
My brows knit. “You haven’t committed a crime. You’re the victim here.”
She bristles at the word victim.
“You read the text.” She’s a bit sharper now. “Whoever killed Rich did it because of me. I’m responsible.”
“You are not responsible.” I don’t quite manage to keep the bite from my tone. I won’t allow her to feel guilty for my crimes. “Whoever killed him is responsible. You haven’t done anything wrong.”
She shakes her head slightly, dismissing my assertion. “I won’t go to the police. Please don’t keep pressuring me about it.”
“I won’t pressure you. I never said you had to report this. I wanted to know why you’re choosing to keep it to yourself when you’re clearly in danger.”
“Oh.”
She takes a moment to assess me. She didn’t expect me to be okay with her not going to the police.
After several heavy heartbeats, her shoulders slump.
“I don’t know what to do,” she admits. “Someone killed him. Rich is dead.”
It takes effort to prevent my eyes from flashing with triumph. Yes, the entitled little shit is dead, and I’d kill him a hundred times over for trying to force himself on my Karolina.
“Did you have a relationship with him?” I ask, even though I know the answer already.
“No!”
Her kneejerk disgust soothes the vicious afterglow from the memory of my kill. She never wanted Rich.
She’s mine.
“Then why would someone who’s fixated on you kill Rich?” I press.
I need to know what the boy did on that night I was busy installing the cameras in her apartment. I’ve been worried that he tried to make a move on her when I wasn’t watching. Maybe that disgusting scene in her kitchen wasn’t the first time he tried to steal a kiss from her.
“He was flirty with me, but that’s all. I guess there’s a chance someone saw him hitting on me when we were out at the pub a few days ago.”
“Did he touch you?” I don’t quite manage to keep the growl from roughening the question.
She jolts at the slightest hint at possessive aggression.
Fuck.
My possessiveness is exactly why she ran away from me after the hunt. I have to be more careful. She has to come to me. She has to think our relationship is her idea, her choice.
I take a quick breath and force my shoulders to relax. “I don’t tolerate abusive men,” I explain.
That much is true. Every man who might’ve abused her is long dead.
Her lush lips press together, as though she’s holding in a follow up question.
She must decide that she doesn’t want to press for more information because she simply answers, “No, Rich didn’t touch me. Maybe just putting his hand on my arm, but nothing more than that.”