She studied him carefully but didn’t press him for more. For now it’d be enough.
Chapter Nine
Juliette turned to glance over her shoulder as she locked up the library for the night. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Maybe I shouldn’t have let Jeff leave early. The library sat in the heart of town. But crime didn’t politely agree to stay in the bad areas. Crazy ran amuck these days.
Gripping her keys, she stuck the pointed ends outward, per her self-defense classes. A glance assured her there were no cars close to her own, and the light she’d parked beneath illuminated everything. Chalking it up to too much late-night thriller reading, she spun around and rushed to the safety of her black sedan, keeping her guard up. When she reached the driver’s side, she noticed a sticky note adhered to the car beneath a pink begonia. Great, now the serial flower giver has upped his game. Just what I need. Removing the note, she began to read and froze.
A flash of heat bloomed in her face and nausea rocked her stomach like a boat in a storm.
I thought you learned your place. For the past few months you were my good girl, keeping to yourself. Now you’ve taken up with a miscreant. I can’t allow that to happen…
She looked up, sure he was somewhere watching her every move. God, had he been stalking her since their breakup? A chill set in. The flowers were from him. Suddenly the forget me not’s made sense. The other flowers had to mean something. Peter Stant never did anything without purpose. Fumbling with her key, she unlocked the door, climbed behind the wheel, cranked the car and peeled out.
Peter had returned. Per his usual style, he’d done it with a bang. Her hands shook as she turned on the speaker system in her phone and glanced in her rearview mirror to see if anyone followed. He’d driven a black sports car, but that might have changed.
“Call Shooter.” Her voice shook and cracked, but the machine understood. When his voicemail picked up, her heart dropped. Not now. She’d never called him at the club before, but this counted as an emergency. “Call Club.” The phone rang twice.
“Hello.”
“Can I speak to Shooter?”
“Who wants to know?”
“The librarian.”
“Give me a second.” Rustling sounded in her ear. “Hey, Shooter. Your old lady’s on the phone.”
“Hey, baby. What’s going on?”
“Peter’s back.”
“Are you okay? What happened? You need me to send some boys out to the library?”
“N-no. I don’t know. He left a note on my car, said he’s been watching me for years, and now that I’m seeing you something needs to be done.”
“That Barbie-looking son of a bitch.”
“You looked him up.”
“Of course I did. I should’ve snapped his fool neck.”
The gravelly tone of his voice soothed her.
“I want you to come to the club now.”
“I’m still dressed for work.”
“I don’t care. Who knows how long he’s been lurking in your bushes, jacking off while you sleep. I want my boys to head to your house and check the place out.”
“Okay…but then what am I going to do?”
“You let me worry about that.”
“What if he follows me?”
“I hope that motherfucker does. We’ll have a nice present waiting for him.”
Turning onto the highway ramp, she gunned the engine. “I’m scared.”