James remained kneeling where he was, not wanting to move or interrupt but feeling like a third wheel.
Gradually, she slipped off into sleep, held tight in Sloan’s arms.
Sloan stood and shifted Kinley to the bed, pulling a throw up over her. She hiccupped a little, and he leaned down and kissed her on the forehead. Then he stood and gestured for James to follow him.
Well, he hadn’t been planning on standing in their bedroom, watching Kinley sleep. Although . . . he took one last look at her before closing the door behind him. He strode into the living area where Sloan stood with his back to him, staring out a window.
“Nothing was happening, I swear,” James told him. “I stepped outside to take a call and when I came back in she didn’t answer when I called. I started searching through the house and found her sitting on the bed with headphones on. I got a little angry,” he admitted.
Sloan turned to look at him. “Because you were scared.”
“Yeah, I guess. I thought she’d left.” Or been taken.
“Because you care about her.”
“As a friend,” James said cautiously, feeling like he’d just pulled the pin on a grenade and was waiting for the explosion.
Sloan remained silent for a moment. “Another bunch of flowers were delivered.”
“What?” James struggled with the change of subject. “Flowers? To her apartment?”
“Yep. I handed the flowers off to the cops already.”
James snorted. “Like they care.”
“The note said, ‘I’ll find you little flower. I promise you that.’”
James’s blood turned cold. “What? Fuck.”
“Yeah, the cops want to see whatever you find on that feed.”
“Shit.” James rushed over to his laptop where he’d left it on the dining table, waking it up before bringing up the camera feed.
He scrolled back about an hour.
“There,” Sloan said, tapping the screen.
They watched as a slightly built man, his hoodie pulled up over his head, walked down the hallway and placed a big bunch of flowers outside Kinley’s door.
“Damn it, look up,” Sloan said. “Fuck. We’re not going to get a clear shot of him. Do you think it could be Gary?”
“Is who Gary?” a quiet voice asked from behind them. James twirled around.
“Shit. I didn’t even hear you,” Sloan said, walking over to Kinley, who watched them both tiredly. He cupped her face between his palms, raising her face to study her. “You’re exhausted, baby. What are you doing up?”
“Hard to sleep. What’s going on?”
“We caught your mystery stalker on camera,” James said. “Haven’t seen his face. Yet.”
She puffed out a sigh. “Of course not, that would be too simple, right?”
She walked over and stood behind him. Her scent teased him, and he had to work hard not to react as she leaned over him, placing her hand on his shoulder. He glanced up at Sloan, who looked thoughtful again. What the fuck?
James slid out from under her touch. “Here, Kinley, take a seat. Let’s watch the rest.”
The person stood and moved away from Kinley’s door. Then just for a moment he looked up.
“Oh, my God, it’s not Gary. It’s Alan Cartland.”