Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 94076 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94076 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
I can’t help stopping and studying the page like I did this morning. “They caught your good side.”
“You say that now. But wait until you see me naked.”
Oh gods. I half gasp, half laugh before I mean to. Tension coils in my core. “Not gonna happen.”
His chuckle is sinful. I sway a little at the sound and move to the right, putting the desk chair between us.
“I noticed there were no pictures of us dancing.” I thought I remembered a few camera flashes going off while we danced, but I’m not sure. I had been too focused on him.
“There were. I made sure they weren’t released.”
“You did?” I can’t untangle the relief rushing through me from the regret. I wanted to see a photo, if only to torture myself.
“I want to keep you to myself.”
And I have nothing to say to that.
I’m about to move on when a frame on his desk catches my eye. I snatch it up, not believing what I’m seeing. The frame is silver and heavy enough to be solid, not gilt. But that’s not what stops my heart.
It’s a charcoal sketch of him in a Thinker’s pose, contemplating a swallow perched on his fist. The image is painfully familiar. I know every pencil stroke, every shade. I know it because I drew it.
He took my sketchbook. I knew it.
Not only did he take it, he framed the drawing I made of him.
I can sense him behind me.
He’s waiting for me to say something. To give in and sway into his arms.
I want to. And he knows it.
Which is why I won’t give in.
I set the frame down carefully. “You owe me a sketchbook,” I say and stride to the door before I change my mind.
19
Inara
Out on the streets, I dial Mina as soon as I’m a block away from the Roy building. “He knows your full name,” I tell her voicemail. “I told him to back off. He won’t follow you anymore if you do the same.” I hang up without explaining how I got access to Rex freakin’ Roy.
The real question is how he got so much access to me. How long has he been watching me?
Mina texts back a set of exclamation points but no questions.
I don’t bother going back to work. Assuming Burgess has reported my movements, I imagine I’ll be getting a call from the Chief of Police demanding an accounting of my actions. Suspending me for harassing the department’s biggest donor.
Justice can be bought, so I’ll have to build a solid case if I’m going to take down Rex, and so far, I have nothing.
I head to Grand Central Station to check for the file, but there’s still nothing in the locker.
“Did you send the fax?” The lead on the case we once worked on is old school and required everything to be faxed. Mina hated it. She’ll know I’m referring to the files she promised to send.
My text goes undelivered. The only response I get is that the number is no longer in service.
Mina’s gone.
All for the best. I can’t get too close to anyone.
First because of who I am.
Now because of the man obsessed with me.
I spend the rest of the day at my townhouse, doing a physical sweep for bugs or cameras. I don’t find any, but I don’t have the proper equipment to detect what might be hiding in the wiring. I have more luck getting information after making a few calls.
Turns out, the owner of the townhouse is Roy Conglomerate, the real estate arm of Roy Enterprises. He didn’t even bother to hide the purchase behind a shell corporation. I was told about this place through police channels, but I already know Rex is besties with the Chief, so he could have easily told the brass about the available housing and made sure the offer landed in my inbox.
The townhouse neighbor is listed as S. Rex. I don’t need three guesses to figure out what the S is probably short for.
My phone rumbles on the kitchen counter. I pick it up, cursing when I see Rex has somehow changed his name back to Sir.
Sir: What are your plans for dinner?
Me: You hacked my phone
Sir: Allegedly. Dinner?
Oh, fuck him.
Me: Bodega kebob
Me: @3 am
Sir: Not amusing.
Me: I think it is
Me: I’m a grown woman
Me: I can feed myself
Between the room at Hotel Magnifique, the clothes and winter coat, and lunch today, he certainly likes his gifts. He says he’ll take care of me, and he has.
And deep down, I love it. More than a little bit.
It’s been a long time since anyone has taken care of me this way. After my family was murdered, I ended up with extended family, then a group home. At age twelve, I ran away and lived outside for weeks.
Sir: I know.
Sir: You shouldn’t have to.