Pul ing the phone away from her ear, Gracie looked at Wade. She blinked a couple of times, hoping it was just a bad dream and it would go away. “Dad’s at my apartment.”
“And?”
Gracie squeezed her eyes shut, praying she’d wake up and find herself in Wade’s cozy bed, his protective arms surrounding her. Of course, it wasn’t to be. In her experience prayers were rarely answered. She opened her eyes and said, “My home has been broken into.”
Wade straightened in the chair, and if his arms hadn’t been around her she would’ve fal en. “What the hel ?”
She threw her hands in the air. “Dad’s there now. H-He says the place is trashed.” Her voice quivered as she imagined her things ruined.
Wade took the phone out of her hands and brought it to his ear. “Mr. Baron, I need you to hang up and cal the police.” She could hear her father cursing. “Just do it!” Wade shouted and slammed the phone onto the table. He cupped her cheek. “I should’ve insisted on that damn security system. I’m sorry, sweetheart.”
Gracie refused to al ow Wade to take responsibility for the actions of some psycho. She shook her head, denying his words. “No, Wade, this is not your fault.” Another thought occurred. “What if I’d been there?”
Wade raked a hand through his hair. “My guess is he knew you weren’t and wanted to send you a message.”
What had started as a mere nuisance was turning her life upside down. It was enough to make a perfectly rational person commit murder.
“What kind of message is he trying to send? First, he runs me off the road; now this. God, Wade, this is insane!”
“Shh, it’s going to be okay. We do need to get over there, though, and talk to the police. We’l need to make statements. And I want to cal Detective Henderson. He should be informed.”
Gracie heard the door open. Jonas strode through, a smile on his handsome face. “You have no idea how hard it was not to dig into this pizza.” He looked at them, and the smile disappeared. “What happened?”
Wade spoke first. “Gracie’s apartment’s been broken into. According to her father, the place is trashed. He’s cal ing the police now.”
“Jesus, this guy isn’t working with a ful deck is he?”
“No.” Wade lifted her off his lap and lightly tapped her cast. “Do you need help getting dressed?”
She shook her head. “I think I’ve got it.”
He nodded. “I’m going to cal the detective then. We’l eat on the way.”
Bile rose at the thought of food. “I’m suddenly not hungry. Go figure.” She turned and went up the stairs, legs shaking with each step. When would it end? She was so tired of being at the mercy of some nameless, faceless asshole. He knew everything about her, apparently had no problem getting into her apartment, and yet she could walk up to him on the street and say hel o and not even know it. A ghost. He was a deranged ghost.
15
Everything she owned was destroyed. Her furniture was shredded, the cheap, store-bought artwork she’d hung on her wal s ripped right out of their frames. They littered the floor as if they held no more importance than garbage. And her books, her precious paperbacks that had given her countless hours of enjoyment over the years, appeared to have been sliced into pieces. He’d cut up her books. My God, what sort of person did something like this? The rage he must have been in to do this much damage . . . She shivered at the thought. There didn’t appear to be a single thing left to salvage. Nothing had been left untouched. She stared from the front of the room, unable to move any farther. She couldn’t bring herself to see what he’d done to her bedroom. Her skin crawled as she imagined him riffling through her clothes, her private things.
“Wade.” Her voice sounded far away, as if she were floating outside her own body.
“Right here, sweetheart.”
The calm tone quieted her fears as nothing else could. The arm he had wrapped around her shoulder kept her from sinking to the carpet. “I checked every room. He’s gone. Judging by the scratch marks on your doorknob, and the fact that none of your windows are broken, I think he picked your lock.” He paused, then asked, “Do you want to see the rest of it?”
“I don’t think I can, Wade.”
“I’l be right here, baby.”
As they started toward the kitchen, her dad suddenly appeared at her front door. “Where the hel have you been?”
Wade released her and stepped forward, his stance protective and ready for battle. “She’s been with me, Mr. Baron. And you should be damned grateful too. If she’d been home when this had taken place, she could’ve been hurt.”
Her father sneered as he looked at Wade. “Who the hel are you?”
His words weren’t slurred, but she could tel al the same that he’d been drinking. His clothes were wrinkled, and he looked as if it’d been a good week since he’d last showered. Had he left her wrecked apartment to go drink? God, probably. Humiliation suffused her. She should be used to her father embarrassing her. Hel , she’d definitely experienced it enough times. Just once she wished he could’ve been sober. That she was like any other daughter and could run into her dad’s loving arms and feel secure. That was the stuff of fairy tales, though, and her life had never been a fairy tale.
Gracie placed her hand on Wade’s forearm, hoping to stop the train wreck of a conversation before it had a chance to gain momentum.