Home Bound (11 page)

I was pathetic.

Once this case was over, I’d be just like thousands of guys all over the world—I’d jackoff to her picture too. The only difference was that I’d at least have the memory of what it was like to actually hold her in my arms and touch her and kiss her.

Even if it was for only a minute.

See? Pathetic.

I quickly finished my drink and stood and stretched. It had been a bitch of a day, and really, I needed some sleep. When this case was over, I was going to take a month off and just fucking sleep. By that time, I would definitely deserve it.

Making my rounds, I made sure the entire apartment was secure. Off in the distance I heard another door slam. She was going to take a shower. It was part of her routine, and I was used to it. And I tried not to imagine her standing naked with water cascading down her body.

I didn’t succeed.

Doors locked? Check. Windows locked and blinds closed? Check. I turned off the lights in the entryway, kitchen, and living room and, because I was a glutton for punishment, I checked the door to Evangeline’s bedroom.

Locked.

Fucking check.

I sighed and walked to my own room and flipped on the light as I kicked off my shoes. Sleep. I needed some sleep. Tossing my shirt on the chair in the corner, I sat on the side of the bed, raked a hand through my hair, and contemplated how long I was going to let myself sleep tonight. I’d love to give myself a solid eight hours—especially since Evangeline wasn’t due on the set until late afternoon—but I knew I’d probably only take four and then get up and just...wait. I wasn’t expecting any problems, but I’d feel better being awake and standing guard.

Not that it was appreciated.

With a weary sigh, I stood and pulled off my belt and tossed it. My hand was on my button fly when I heard a blood-curdling scream. Immediately I was running toward Evangeline’s room, but unfortunately the door was locked. Without hesitation, I kicked it down.

And that hurt like a son of a bitch.

“Evangeline!” I called out. She wasn’t in her room and nothing there looked out of place. The bathroom door wasn’t locked, and I quickly stepped inside and found her in the corner on the floor wrapped in a towel. She was soaking wet, and I couldn’t tell if she was crying or not. “Evangeline? What happened?” I kept my eyes on her face to try and keep her calm.

She was pale. Too pale. And she was trembling.

“Evangeline? Sweetheart? What’s going on?” I asked softly, my hands gently grasping her shoulders, looking for any signs of injury.

One hand reached out and shakily pointed to the linen closet. Slowly I stood and turned toward the closet. I stopped and looked over my shoulder at her one more time. I thought she was shaking even more. Going back to her, I lifted her in my arms and carried her out to the bedroom and gently placed her on the bed before going back into the bathroom.

“Son of a bitch,” I muttered and stop at the open door.

There, on a bed of white towels, were the heads of three decapitated rats.

Evangeline

I
’d been living with fear for weeks now, but I’d never in my life been as terrified as this.

The stalker was in my apartment.
My apartment
. Despite all the security I had surrounding me, he was actually inside my bathroom—to put those horrible, sickening rats in my linen closet.

Phone calls and messages were bad enough. They made you feel exposed, vulnerable, at the mercy of someone else’s will. But an intrusion like that was something worse, something more. This apartment wasn’t my home—it was just the place I was staying while I shot this film. But it still felt like my private space, and it was a horrible violation, as well as an obvious threat.

If he could get into this place—despite Cole’s best efforts—then he could get to me anywhere, any time he wanted.

Nowhere I went would be safe.

I was huddled in a ball on my bed, still wearing nothing but a towel and wet hair, and I was trying to talk myself into pulling it together. But I couldn’t. I kept seeing those mutilated bodies on the white towels. Here. Where it was supposed to be safe.

A wave of nausea slammed into me as Cole came back into the bedroom, looking as grim as anyone I’d ever seen.

He would be beating himself up. I knew exactly how he was feeling. And ironically, despite everything, I felt a pull of empathy—recognizing how badly he’d feel about this failure and how much he would take it to heart.

“Get up,” he said. “We’re getting out of here.”

I blinked at him, uncomprehending. When he’d found me in the bathroom, he’d been protective, almost tender. He’d called me “sweetheart.” A little part of me had heard the words and liked them.

But he was nothing like that now. He was cool and hard and professional, and it was like a slap in the face.

“Get up,” he repeated. “We can’t stay here. The apartment has been compromised. I need to get you somewhere safe.”

That did make sense, even through the fuzziness of my mind, but I couldn’t get my body to react immediately. “The rats...” I began, hit with more intense nausea as the picture of the bloody corpses revived in my mind.

“I’ll have someone collect them for evidence,” he said, “but you’re not staying here a minute longer. Get up. Right now.”

He wasn’t rude as much as coolly efficient, and it was almost a relief now. Something I could cling to, something sane and competent in a world that was nothing but sickening chaos. I tried to sit up and halfway managed it, and then Cole reached out to pull me to my feet.

I swayed and my knees buckled briefly, but he kept me upright.

I was starting to get my body under control when I saw that my top dresser drawer was partway opened.

I never left drawers opened. They always bugged me if they weren’t closed all the way.

I gripped Cole’s arm urgently and choked, “The drawer. He was in my...” I couldn’t finish the sentence. I felt the blood drain out of my face for the second time in less than five minutes.

I kept my lingerie in my top dresser drawer. And this monster’s hands would have been all over them.

All of it. Everything. Violated.

The nausea hit again, and this time it was too much. I started to gag as my body violently rejected what my mind simply couldn’t accept. There was no way I could go into the master bath again, so I ran for the half-bath in the hallway, making it just in time to vomit into the toilet.

I was on my knees on the floor, tears streaming down my face when I was done.

Cole was there too, lifting me to my feet, wiping my face with a damp hand towel, letting me lean on him.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said, one of his arms holding me against his body. I needed his warmth and his strength, so I couldn’t possible pull away yet. “You can’t stay here any longer.”

“Okay.” My throat was raspy, and I was still shaking, but the idea of leaving this horrible place was such a relief that I managed to straighten up. “I need clothes.”

Cole helped me to a chair in the hallway, and then went back into the bedroom. He returned with my phone and some clothes for me to put on.

Millions had seen me mostly naked, so I wasn’t particularly bothered with modesty. I was too upset to worry about it now anyway. I dropped the towel and pulled on the underwear, leggings and oversized sweater he’d brought me, without making much effort to hide myself from Cole.

He kept his head turned away from me—out of general civility, I assumed—but he didn’t turn his back, and he didn’t leave the hall.

When I was dressed, we collected what he needed and my bag, and we left. Cole made sure I was safely in the chauffeured car before he started to contact people and make a plan.

I sure wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of the tone he was using with everyone he talked to. Of course, I actually had been on the receiving end of a similar tone from him, and it had only made me angry. But he was different now. Like there was a dangerous coldness to his anger that he’d never shown to me.

He made arrangements for the police to come and for the rats to be collected as evidence. “Should we wait for the police?” I asked, when he hung up on one of his calls. “Won’t they want to talk to us?”

“Yes, but you’re not going to hang around here. You can talk to the police tomorrow.”

I opened my mouth to ask another question, but he was already on a different call. I listened to a blistering interrogation about the security of the apartment building until he got out of the car to have the phone conversations right outside the car.

He didn’t leave me alone, even though he was no longer in the car. Someone would still have to get through him to get to me.

It made me feel a little better—even his anger did—knowing that the stalker would have to face that anger if he made a move on me directly.

I was at loose ends and wanted to do something, so I dialed up Sebastian’s number without thinking.

He wouldn’t be able to help me—since he was far away—but he was my friend and I needed all I could get right now.

“Hey,” Sebastian said, picking up on the fourth ring, “What’s the matter?”

It was kind of late. He probably hadn’t expected to be interrupted. So I told him about the rats without preamble.

“Shit,” Sebastian breathed, when I was finished. There was a pause, as he obviously tried to take it in. Then, “Shit.”

“It’s...horrible.”

“Where’s Cole?”

“He’s working on it. He’s right outside the car.”

“How the hell could he have gotten into the apartment?”

“That’s what Cole is trying to figure out.”

“Where are you going now?”

“I don’t know. Cole said he needed to get me out of the apartment, and I couldn’t possibly stay there now anyway. He said he was going to take me to somewhere safe, but I don’t know where could be safe enough.”

“My family has a place in D.C. with security like Fort Knox. It’s usually used for visiting executives, but it’s empty a lot of time. No one is in it this week. You can go stay there, if you don’t mind the drive.”

“I don’t mind the drive. I just want to be somewhere safe.”

“It’s safe. I promise. We’ve used it before for a couple of our security jobs. Cole will know where it is.”

“That sounds good,” I said, startled when the car door opened without warning and Cole crawled in beside me.

“What sounds good?” he demanded, frowning intensely at seeing me on the phone. “Who is that?”

“Sebastian. He has an idea about where we can go.”

I’d barely gotten the sentence out when Cole was taking the phone from my hands and talking to Sebastian himself. He didn’t sound very friendly. He didn’t sound anything like friends.

I wondered if he was annoyed with Sebastian for some reason or if he was always this way. He definitely wasn’t the warm-fuzzy type.

Cole evidently agreed with staying in the Maxwell place, and he handed me the phone back when he was done.

“Why did you call Sebastian?” he demanded in clip tones.

I blinked, distracted from the fear that was starting to make me shiver again. “What do you mean?”

“I assume you called him and he didn’t call you.”

“No, he didn’t call me. I called him. Why shouldn’t I? This whole thing is appalling.”

“I know it’s appalling. What I don’t know is what he could do about it.”

“What’s the matter with you?” I snapped, the surge of annoyance almost a relief, since it was familiar and controllable. “He’s your partner, and he had a good idea about where we could stay. He’s also a friend of mine.”

“I know he is.”

I peered at his face, realizing that he was offended or hurt or something about my asking Sebastian for help, rather than relying completely on him. From the time we’d spent together already, I knew how independent and self-sufficient and unbreakably proud he was. Maybe he saw the innocuous call as a slight on his abilities.

It wasn’t, of course. Despite what I’d said to Cole over the last week, I didn’t think anyone could have done a better job than he’d done. There were forces at work here that were beyond the scope of one man to get a handle on, but if anyone could do it, Cole could.

I didn’t call Sebastian because I didn’t trust Cole to keep me safe, but maybe Cole thought I had.

“Have you always been this way?” I asked, genuinely wanting the answer, even though the reflections had all been in my mind, so the question was out of the blue.

“What way?” Cole’s eyes searched my face.

“Like you have to conquer the world single-handedly.”

He looked briefly surprised, but not offended as I’d half-expected. “That’s pretty much the way it’s always worked.”

“Maybe because you refuse to accept help when it’s offered.”

“Help usually comes with strings.”

His expression was slightly closed-off, but I could tell he meant it. His experiences had taught him not to rely on anyone but himself.

“Even from friends?” I asked softly. He wasn’t completely alone. He had real friends. Close friends. Surely that would make a difference.

Something broke on his face very briefly and his lips parted, like he might speak. But he didn’t. He gave his head a little shake and turned away from me.

***

W
e didn’t talk much on the drive to D.C., and unfortunately that left me too much time to brood over what had just happened.

Every way I looked at it, it was a nightmare. The stalker had access to my apartment, which meant he was incredibly talented at breaking and entering or he was using someone I trusted.

Or maybe he
was
someone I trusted.

That thought was the worst thing of all, and I kept rehearsing the faces of everyone I knew and liked and trusted. Could one of them be working against me?

I couldn’t stand the idea of it, and by the time we got to the gated street and the expensive townhouse owned by the prestigious Maxwell family, I was almost sick again at the thought of such a betrayal.

The townhouse was as safe as we could want it to be—complete with neighborhood security, top-of-the-line alarms, limited access to the outside, and even a panic room.