The Space Between (The Book of Phoenix) (7 page)

I stepped back, too, out of the alley between the two beds, and threw my arm out and pointed at the door.

“Out!” I ordered. He needed to leave. Whether he was stalking me or not, he was too dangerous to be around. I couldn’t trust him. I couldn’t trust myself.

He sat on the bed and crossed his arms. I narrowed my eyes.

“I said to get out. I’m
this
close to turning you in as a stalker.”

He cocked his head, then unfolded his arms to sign. “Not until you hear my side. Trust me. I’m not stalking you. I had no idea you’d be here.”

I stared at him when he didn’t continue. He was waiting for me to allow it. I knew he hadn’t expected to see me when he came running out into the parking lot, the only reason I hadn’t called the cops yet. He’d been genuinely surprised. And what kind of stalker screws other women? Isn’t that counterintuitive? It’s not like she looked like me or anything, and she certainly wasn’t being forced against her will. He could have been trying to make me jealous. Did stalkers do that to their victims? I had no idea—the ins and outs of stalking weren’t exactly my forte—but that brought me back to how surprised he’d been to see me.

I nodded for him to go on.

“I didn’t follow you here. Since I had to come to Atlanta, I thought I’d come see my grandmother. But she wasn’t home.”

Something prickled the back of my neck, making me roll my shoulders.

“Why did you say you were going to Miami, then?” I demanded.

“Because that was the plan until the weather changed it.”

I didn’t know if I should believe him, but I hadn’t exactly been watching the Weather Channel to deny his claim. I rubbed at my wrist while pacing a couple of times. The rest of his story sounded plausible, and although I couldn’t get a tone from his voice, his eyes and body language made me want to believe him. My gaze traveled over him once more, catching on the glints of the loops in his eyebrow and nipples. They weren’t normally my thing, but on Jeric . . .
Damn, is that not hot.
I shook myself out of it.

“Okay,” I finally said. “I won’t call the cops. But you need to go to your own room.”

He shook his head. “I don’t feel right doing that. I . . .” His eyes moved about as he inhaled and exhaled, as though he was trying to find the right words. “I’m worried about you.”

That was it? That was his line? Well, it
was
a little endearing. But not enough.

“I’m fine. Besides, I thought you didn’t do sleepovers.”

His mouth stretched into the best grin he’d given me yet, full dimples and all. My heart palpitated. “I’d make an exception for you.”

I gulped.
Be firm. You can’t do this
. No, I couldn’t. My uncle was missing and here I was about to let some man-whore try to sweet talk me into bed. The last thing I needed now was regret for a one-night-stand piled on top of everything else. How could he even go again anyway? Wasn’t he all sexed out? Ew. No way I was falling for this guy. He’d just had another woman in his bed! I drew in a deep breath, straightened my back and hardened my eyes.

“As charming as you are, you need to go. Now. Or I might have to change my mind about calling the front desk.”

His hands went up to protest again, but he must have seen in my face I was serious. He pressed his lips together, nodded and, then signed, “I’m right next door if you need me.”

Then he finally left. I locked all the locks on the door and double-checked the window before crawling under the covers. After realizing I’d spend the rest of the night with my knees drawn to my chest and my eyes wide open, I counted the hours on my fingers, then reached over to the nightstand for my phone. May as well make the dreaded call to Alaska now and get it over with.

As I dialed my parents’ number, I wondered: How do you tell your daddy you lost his uncle?

Chapter 6

  I’d hoped a run would work out my tight muscles and the crick in my neck after spending the night in front of Leni’s door on the cold, hard concrete. If anything, the cool air of dawn rushing through my lungs should help to clear my mind, and then maybe I could explain to myself
why
I’d spent the night in front of some girl’s door on the cold, hard concrete. But I already knew one part of that answer—Leni wasn’t “some” girl. She was so much more.

That’s why I couldn’t follow through with the kiss last night. I’d wanted to get it done and over with since we both obviously wanted it. But she deserved more than sloppy seconds, even if it was just a kiss. I’d still had the Georgia peach’s scent all over me and alcohol on my breath, too. Shit. Leni deserved so much more than anything I could ever offer her.

My mind knew I should leave town, that I should have been gone already. Usually my heart would be in agreement, cold and hard to any feelings for a girl who could only shatter it, but not this time. Something deeper than that gut feeling—my soul?—told me to stay. To watch her. To protect her. And I couldn’t bring myself to argue with . . . myself.

Shit. I was losing it.
She
was making me lose it. The very reason I avoided girlfriends—they weren’t worth the trouble. Except Leni. She was different. Which was why I really did need to let go, move on, forget about her, and let her go on with her life without me messing it up.

My mind was made up to do exactly that by the time I finished my run, but after showering and packing, I couldn’t follow through. I talked myself into seeing her one more time to say goodbye, to make sure she was really okay, which she more than likely was. And then, no matter what, I would go.

But when I left my room with my bags on my shoulders and stepped over to hers, I found the door ajar and housekeeping inside.
Shit.
She was already gone.
Just as well
, I told myself. Unfortunately, that didn’t mean she was gone from my mind. I had a feeling it would take a while to forget about her. Our run-ins had been brief, and she really wasn’t my type at all, but there was something about her that insisted on sticking with me.

I dropped my bags in the back seat of the rental car with her still on my mind as I wondered where she had gone. She’d demanded an explanation from me, which wasn’t unreasonable, but she’d never explained what
she
was doing here at this hotel. Didn’t she say she lived near Atlanta? So why, after being overseas for so long, was she at a hotel and not at home?

Wanting a real breakfast before hitting the road, I skipped the hotel’s continental crap and drove down the street to a Denny’s. I hated eating alone and hoped another peach of a waitress might keep me company—and distract me—but when I walked inside, I forgot why I was even here.

Leni sat in a booth on the far side from the door with a coffee cup and a book on the table in front of her, though she ignored both. She stared out the window instead, but I knew she didn’t really see what was outside. Her mind had gone somewhere else. She felt sad or hurt. I didn’t know how I knew this. Her eyes weren’t teary or red and swollen or anything. I just knew.

I pushed past the hostess and made my way down the aisle to Leni’s booth, the hostess trying to stop me with a hand on my arm that I easily shrugged off. Leni’s head snapped toward us, and then she shook it as I slid into the seat across from her. She waved off the hostess, and I let out the breath I’d been holding.

“Why are you here?” she asked.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, going right to the point.

She ran her thumbs under her eyes, as though wiping away non-existent tears. She was holding them back. “I asked you first.”

“I’m hungry.”

Her lips twitched, but for a smile or a frown, I wasn’t sure. “I’m . . . lost.”

Her chest hitched as it rose, as though her breath stuttered, but then she plastered on her extra-sweet smile I knew now to be fake.

“You’re at a Denny’s in BFE Georgia. Does that help?”

She laughed, but the lingering smile still didn’t reach her eyes.

“That’s not what you meant, is it?” I asked. She shook her head, and I leaned forward over the table. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

She watched me for a moment, her eyes glancing up at my brow-ring and then down, traveling over my arms. When they reached my wrist, she frowned and quickly looked up at me, something flickering in her eyes. Had she noticed the flame tattoo or whatever it was? The thing had shown up all on its own, driving me crazy and pissing me off at the same time. Yeah, I had ink, but every single tat meant something to me, and here appears this mark out of nowhere with no meaning whatsoever. But had Leni been observant enough to notice it was new? It was bright as ever now, the edges raised, so she probably had. But why did she have that bewildered look on her face?

I was about to ask when she slid the book to sit between us. The brown leather cover had some kind of design embossed into it, and a metal clasp locked it shut.

“I can’t open this,” Leni signed.

My brows pulled together. That’s what had her upset? I pulled my pocketknife out, and when she didn’t stop me, I put the blade’s edge to where the clasp met the leather and tried to saw through. I couldn’t even make a notch into the leather. I swiped my thumb over my blade, and it was as sharp as always.

A waitress came by to refill Leni’s coffee cup and took my order, too.

“I already tried cutting it,” Leni’s hands told me when the waitress had left. “I’ve tried everything.”

“What is it?” I asked.

She shrugged. “I don’t know. The guy who gave it to me said he couldn’t open it either.”

“Why did he give it to you?”

She looked up at my face and then away. Her shoulders sagged, and she bit her lip, then finally returned her gaze to me.

“Never mind,” she said. “It’s nothing. So are you taking off?”

I didn’t like how she changed the subject. Something about the book had upset her, but now she was trying to blow it off? No, more likely, trying to tell me it was none of my business.

“Just needed some fuel first,” I said, and right on cue, the waitress slid a plate in front of me, overflowing with eggs, bacon, sausage and pancakes loaded with strawberries and whipped cream. I stabbed a strawberry covered in cream and held it out to Leni.

The smile she gave me was a little more real this time, but she shook her head. “No, thanks. I’m allergic to them.”

I shoved it into my mouth. She watched me eat for a while, rejecting everything I offered to share with her.

“So where are you off to?” I asked after cleaning my plate. “Home?”

I must have said something wrong because tears filled Leni’s eyes. She blinked them away, though.

“It’s time for you to go,” she said.

“I’m worried about you,” I countered. The disbelieving look on her face stabbed me in the heart. “You don’t think I can worry about anyone except myself, do you?”

She shrugged.

“Three days ago, I might have agreed with you,” I admitted.

“And something’s changed?”

I nodded. “I have.”

Her eyebrows arched. “And what has changed you, Mr. Winters?”

I leaned over the table again, closer to her, and mouthed, “You did.”

Her eyes widened briefly, then tightened and became hard. “Forget it. Like I said. It’s time for you to go.”

“Like I said, I’m worried about you. I can’t go.”

“You have to.”

“No.”

“Please.” Her eyes pleaded with me. “I can’t do this now. There’s too much going on . . . family issues . . . .”

“I have lots of those myself. I can probably help.”

“No. I can’t do this. You can’t help, trust me. And I don’t need it anyway. I don’t need . . . this.”

“You don’t need a friend?” I pressed.

Her hands moved with dramatic flair. “I don’t need
you
! Now please, just go.”

Like last night, her hard expression told me she was done arguing. She may have affected me like no other woman had before, but I wasn’t about to beg. She probably had no clue what real family issues were anyway. Not like I did. But she was right. It
was
time for me to go. Even if I could help her through this, in the end, all I could bring her was more grief. This was probably some passing phase with me, and I’d soon be breaking her heart.

I gave her a short nod, stood and pulled some money out of my wallet, and threw it on the table. Without anything to lose, I bent over and almost touched my lips to Leni’s forehead, but then I remembered that crazy-good feeling she gave me when we simply touched. I didn’t need that now when I was preparing to leave her. So I simply tugged on a curl as she looked up at me with silver-green eyes full of despair, no matter how hard she tried to blink it away. Then I turned and strode off before I changed my mind.

After pulling out of the parking spot, I couldn’t help a last glance over my shoulder to our table at the window. Leni was already gone.

Eyes forward. Focus forward. Time to move on
.

I rolled my neck and shoulders and blew out a breath as if I could blow Leni out of my system. But the harder I tried to not think about her, the more I did. Something had happened to her last night. I felt it in my bones. And if they—it, whatever had been in the bushes—returned and harmed a single curl on her head, I’d never forgive myself.

My foot jumped from the gas pedal with the thought of leaving her alone and vulnerable. When the car didn’t seem to respond, I glanced at the speedometer and realized I’d only been going twenty miles an hour anyway, as if my subconscious was telling me not to leave.
Maybe I should stick around to be sure she’s okay.
I pulled to the side of the road to consider this idea. My mind ran away with itself, lost in forming a plan until a truck blasted past me so fast it shook the car and jolted me back to reality. I
knew
better than to sit on the side of the road.
Shit, Winters, what the fuck is wrong with you?

I was not a stalker type. I wasn’t even an up-front-in-your-face-I-want-to-be-your-boyfriend type. I was losing my mind, and the best thing I could do for me and for Leni was to leave town. As I stepped on the gas pedal and merged onto the road, my decision made, the pull inside me protested. It screamed louder and louder the faster the car went and the farther away from Leni I drove. I tried to ignore the ache, using every bit of my self-control to keep my foot on the pedal and my mind focused forward.

She’s just a girl, no different than any other chick. And with a lot of baggage. You really don’t want to get involved with all that.

True. Girls with baggage—I’d dealt with enough of that. Nobody seemed to have more baggage than models and strippers, and I’d had my fill of both. My own bags were enough for one person to carry. I didn’t need to take on Leni’s, too.

Giving myself a mental pat on the ass for doing the right thing, I turned up the radio until the beat pounded through me and guided the car toward the ramp for the interstate. But although I pressed harder on the gas, the car refused to accelerate. Then it lurched. Sputtered. And died.

I sat in the driver’s seat, staring at the gray smoke pluming from under the hood. The music’s bass continued pounding out a beat, so the battery still worked. Smoke like that meant the radiator or engine, neither of them a quick fix. I banged my fist against the steering wheel. Why now? Now that I’d convinced myself to go, I wanted nothing more than to get far away from here.

With a frustrated groan, I threw open the door. A body jumped out of the way. I looked up to find Leni standing in the middle of the road, staring at me.

“You okay?” she signed, her eyes wide. “All the smoke. . .”

“What are you doing? Trying to get yourself killed?” I jumped out of the car, grabbed her arm—ignoring the dizzying effect the touch had on me—and pulled her to the shoulder and into the grass. Far away from danger.

Her eyes widened more. “Is it going to explode?”

“I doubt it.” I turned and stalked over to the car.