“Did you speak to the police?”
“I spoke to campus security first, but they said it was probably someone playing a stupid prank. So, I went to the police, and they pretty much said the same thing.”
His eyes narrow. “You showed them the photographs?”
“Yes. But they didn’t think it was anything I should worry about. Even when I told them about the poem attached to my door the week before.” I bite my lip. I’ve never regretted throwing something out so much in my life as I do with that damn poem. “Because I didn’t have the poem to show them with the photos, they seemed to think I was making a big deal out of nothing.”
Jack shakes his head and folds his big arms over his chest. “What else has he done?”
I take a deep breath and brace myself because walking through the events of the past four months isn’t going to be fun.
I tell him about the text messages and the sensation of being followed.
Of the phone calls from an unidentified number.
Of the heavy breathing of someone on the other end of the line.
Of the fear and paranoia.
Of the profound loss of who I am, day by day, because I’m scared.
“How long has this been going on?”
“Four months, give or take a couple of weeks. Then a couple of nights ago, this happened.” I hand him my cell again, opened to a picture. “He took this photo.”
Anger burns on his face when he sees the picture of me asleep in bed. “He was in your apartment?”
I nod, biting back the fear rising in my gut when I think about The Poet standing over me while I slept. I was so unaware. So vulnerable. He could’ve done anything to me.
“My friend, Riley, came over that night, and she found this on the floor.” I hand him another Polaroid.
Jack’s face grows stormy, his brows tighten as he studies the picture.
“What do you think?” I ask. “Should I be worried?”
“It could be a prank,” he says.
I have a feeling he’s said that more to ease my fear than what he truly believes. Fear tingles in the base of my stomach.
“But in case it isn’t, you need to take precautions.”
Struggling to swallow my fear back, I wrap my arms around my knees. “I’m scared, Jack.”
I watch the muscles in his jaw tighten. “You’re safe now. You understand me? You’ll stay with me until we find out who the fuck is behind this.”
“I don’t want to put you out. I can stay next door—”
“The hell you are. You’re staying here with me, and I’m going to make sure you are safe. Got it?” He presses a few buttons, and I realize he’s adding his number to my contacts and then sends the picture to himself.
“You can trust me, wildflower.” He gives the cell back to me. “If it’s one thing I know how to do, it’s hunting people down and making them pay for fucking with the wrong person.”
BRONTE
It’s too hot to rest, and I’m too rattled to sleep, anyway, so I give in and take a cold drink out to the porch. The night is bright with moonlight, the air sweet-scented with Carolina jasmine growing wild down by the creek.
I sit in a wicker chair with my feet on the railing and stare out into the silvery night. It’s funny because if I were a few yards to my left, sitting on my own porch and looking out into the street, I would be terrified. Hell, I wouldn’t have come outside in the first place. I would’ve put up with the heat and the heavy air and stayed inside with all the doors locked and the windows bolted.
But here at Jack’s house, I’m not as scared.
As if stepping out of my thoughts, Jack appears in the doorway, crumpled from sleep and wearing nothing but a pair of boxer shorts. He leans against the doorjamb and crosses his arms over his bare chest, his hair hanging in messy, chestnut waves past his broad shoulders.
He yawns. “Can’t sleep?”
“I forgot how hot the summer nights are up here.”
His brow creases. “You thinking about the creep?”
“It’s kind of hard not to. He’s been making my life hell for the past four months.”
He steps onto the porch, and I can’t help but notice the muscular back and thick, strong arms covered in tattoos.
“You’re safe. He won’t hurt you, okay? I’ll make sure of that.” The rich comfort in his voice washes over me like warm water. I look up at him and seek comfort in his eyes. “Let him come, and I’ll make sure he wished he didn’t.”
His words aren’t said with bravado. They’re calm and matter of fact.
My eyes drift down his body, secretly appreciating the broad shoulders, the wide, hard chest, and a six-pack that tightens and releases with every little movement he makes. I look away because a shirtless Jack is making my stomach tingle.