Deadly Obsession (6 page)

"This is not Brayden. Or any of the others. It’s not."

"How do you know?"

Shit. "I just do."

"Then you know who it is?"

Praying he didn’t see more than she wanted him to, she held his stare. "No, I don’t who it is."

"Then you have told Kinncaids about the photos? About the phone calls and notes? How long has this guy been calling anyway?"

She only shook her head, and caught his mumbled curse. There was hardly any use in denying it. She had told no one. The only one that even remotely knew anything was standing, calm as you please, in her kitchen. And though the surface was unrippled, she sensed the currents that ran beneath the smooth façade. He wanted answers.

"I’ll take your silence as a no. The question in my mind is that if you really care for Brayden and for this family, which you seem to be a part of more or less, I can’t help wondering why you’d keep this from them." His dark eyes narrowed in their study of her, until she looked away. "The Kinncaids all love you, from what I’ve seen. I’ve got two sisters, and I’d be pissed as hell at one of them for keeping something like this from me. Or my parents."

She didn’t say anything, just turned around and busied herself with making coffee as she filled the carafe.

"There is someone out there doing their damnedest to terrorize you." She heard his footsteps as he walked toward her. "He’s letting you know he’s watching you. He knows everything about you. He’s starting to send you gifts. He’s calling you. Cases like this only escalate."

Escalate? To what? An attack? She already knew what this monster’s worst was.

"Have you changed your locks?" Gabe asked her, the switch in topics momentarily catching her off guard.

"The locksmith is coming Monday morning. I couldn’t get anyone sooner and had to pay extra to bribe my way to Monday," she admitted to him.

Gabe ran a hand through his dark brown hair.

He grinned at her then, a small, half-grin. And if she were interested in him, she might find it attractive.

But she was only interested in one man. Had only felt safe with one man. Brayden. At least ‘that’ kind of safe.

"You are a stubborn woman."

Christian shrugged but couldn’t hide her grin. "So I’ve been told."

He shook his head. "You need to report this. No one can help you if you don’t. And you’re going to hurt your family by keeping this from them."

He was right. Brayden was already wondering what was going on and... Oh, hell. The computer.

She hurried out of the kitchen. Brayden would be so pissed. The stairs were cool under her feet as she dashed up them. Her computer sat on her bed silent and waiting. She saw that Oldshopkeeper was no longer on line.

Quickly, she scrolled back through his messages.

Oldshopkeeper: "Don’t answer it."

Oldshopkeeper: "Dammit Christian it’s three a.m."

Oldshopkeeper: "Are you back? Who was it?"

Oldshopkeeper: "If you’re not back on in a few minutes, I’m calling you."

Oldshopkeeper: "You didn’t answer. I’m coming to town."

That was the last message. Hell.

Why hadn’t she gotten his call? Unless Brayden called while he left a message on her machine. What was the time of the last message? Well over half an hour ago. Hell, he’d be here soon.

She whirled around and saw Gabe standing in her doorway. "Problem?"

"Yeah, Bray’s coming. I went to answer the door and well.... I never got back to instant message him, so he’s coming."

"Maybe he’s not so dumb after all."

Men. She rolled her eyes. "Could you do something else for me?"

"Well, I could wait around and piss off a wealthy powerful guy and his brothers because I’m here with you in the wee hours of the morning. That ought to be fun. Or I could let it slip some twisted man is staking a claim on you. But what did you have in mind?"

Christian shook her head, brushed past him and hurried downstairs. She had to get rid of the painting. If it was here when Brayden arrived, there would be all sorts of questions.

"I was wondering if you could use those muscles of yours to take that-that thing." She pointed to the entryway.

He stepped beside her and stared at the object she was referring to. "You mean the artistic masterpiece?" Gabe scratched his jaw. "On one condition."

"What?" She twisted the cuff on her sweatshirt.

"You tell me what you see in the painting. Because you saw something the rest of us didn’t. And then I get to take it and do with it what I want, no questions asked."

Christian met his gaze directly. Her muscles tensed and she thought about what it meant, what he wasn’t telling her. But then realized how hypocritical that thought was.

"You want that in your house? What the hell are you going to do? Hang it over the stairwell?"

His eyes narrowed. "No, take it to the lab."

"Fine. Whatever. But not now, I’ll look at it later. Tomorrow or something. Or Sunday." She needed to get it out of here now.

His brows furrowed and he only shook his head. "You are hiding something, Miss Bills. Or maybe even someone." He sighed and hefted the painting up.

Hiding? If he only knew.

She turned, opened the door for him and yelped.

"What the hell is going on?" Brayden asked, his voice tight. He looked from Christian’s shocked pale face to the man in her entryway.

One Lieutenant Morris of the DCPD.

He was a fool. All this time he’d been worried about her and....

"Brayden?" Relief flashed across her features and he noticed the tremble in her voice. She leaned into the door.

Morris only cocked a brow, and awkwardly carried a canvas toward the door.

"What are you doing here?" Brayden asked the man.

Christian opened the door further and motioned him in. He caught her scanning the darkness before she shut the door. And the darted look to Morris.

Hell.

She cleared her throat. "Well, my neighbors called him. Uh--yeah. My neighbors woke up to the pounding and saw all my lights were on. They got worried, me being a single female, so Geoffery called Gabe while Drayson made certain all was well," she said in a light tone.

He wasn’t buying it. Nor did he look at her, his gaze was focused on the cop. Who didn’t look away, only smirked.

Brayden wanted to wipe it off his face.

Finally, the lieutenant looked at Christian. "I’ll call you later. I think you two need some time alone. And remember what I said."

She nodded and reopened the door.

What was with the painting? All he saw was the back of the canvas.

When Morris was even with him, the man stopped. "It’s about time you got here. You might not be as dense as I was beginning to think you were. In this day and age, single attractive women living alone are just too tempting for some of the more twisted of our society...."

"Goodnight, Gabe," Christian said tightly.

The look Morris sent her was hardly lover-like. More like notched arrows. Then again, what did he know? Maybe he was a fool and they were in the middle of some fight. And....

"What?" he finally asked, Morris’ words registering. "What did you mean, tempting twisted--"

"Goodnight, Gabe," Christian interrupted and all but shoved the cop out with the door. "I’ll call you tomorrow about that appointment."

The entryway echoed softly with the latch as the door closed.

Brayden took a deep breath and tried to get his bearings. He’d broken several speeding laws to get here in the time he had.

"Why didn’t you answer your phone?" he whispered.

Christian didn’t immediately reply. Her hair was standing up in disarray, the way it did when she was frustrated or nervous and ran her fingers through it repeatedly.

She’d lost weight. The pale skin on her face seemed taut, her eyes sunken, or maybe it was the dark circles beneath them.

Finally, she shrugged, "I had some phone trouble."

She walked past him and into the kitchen. Brayden followed. Christian was a contradiction. She sounded fine, played the situation as though it were the most normal event for him to show up at her door at nearly four in the morning to find another guy there. But he’d caught her relief and the tremble in her words. Her posture was seemingly normal, but it was almost too perfect, too coiled as if waiting to spring.

At the kitchen, he followed the black cord like a dark snake and saw the phone lying shattered on the white tiled floor.

Phone trouble?

He leaned against the doorjamb and watched as she sat the coffee carafe on the machine and clicked the button. She was wearing those blue and gray pajama bottoms with a tight little camisole top, the striped top tossed on top of it.

"Christian."

Her shoulders stiffened.

"What is going on? And don’t bother telling me nothing. What were you doing answering the door at this time of night? And why in the hell didn’t you answer your phone? I’ve called I don’t know how many times." He’d tried to keep the anger out of his words, but he’d been so damn scared at the idea of something happening to her. All the way into town, dark images danced in head. Then to find her whole and safe in her entry with another guy. Well, it was no wonder he couldn’t control his tongue.

She didn’t say anything. He was tired of this. She’d scared the hell out of him.

"You just type you’re going to answer the door in the middle of the night and then you don’t bother to call me or get back to IM to let me know you’re okay. Do you have any idea what was going through my mind. What is going through my mind? Damn it, Christian."

She turned to him then, and he saw the sheen of tears in her eyes. Slowly, he straightened away from the doorway.

"I want to know what the hell is going on. Now." His steely words left little room for argument.

Sighing she said, "I’ve just been getting some weird phone calls. You must have called while he did."

"Weird how? He, who?" He walked toward her, but she backed up and he stopped.

Her tongue darted out, licked her chapped lips, and he saw the tremble of her hand as she raked it through her hair.

"Just-just weird. You know, midnight creepy phone calls. He was calling a lot." Her shoulders lifted on a shrug. "And tonight he left me a present. Gabe came over and took the thing."

"A present?" Brayden asked. He waited, but she didn’t elaborate. Distance be damned. His heels clicked softly on the floor as he crossed to her. Her bent head rose when he stopped in front of her. He placed his hands palm down on either side of her, trapping her against the counter. "Some wacko is calling you, leaving you gifts and you don’t tell me?"

She hadn’t said a damn word.

Her indrawn breath was ragged, and she looked away from him. If she would just...

"No, I didn’t. It’s not that big a deal. That’s all. I’m a big girl now. I don’t need to rely on you or your family for every little thing. Some things I have to do alone," she whispered.

"What the hell are you talking about? This has nothing to do with me or ‘my’ family, which is yours too, by the way. I’m talking about us."

Us. There, he’d said it. Us.

"What about it all being a mistake?" she asked softly.

Brayden sighed. "I don’t know. But..." Truth or lie?

"But?"

Tonight he’d been terrified some rapist had knocked on her door and had all but murdered her. He hadn’t been this scared since Tori and Ryan had been kidnapped.

Truth.

"I miss you."

Her head jerked up and her smoky eyes met his. Disbelief and hope reflected in them. Or did he just imagine the hope?

"I miss you," he repeated.

"Oh." Her eyes darted away. The floral scent of her shampoo drifted up between them, reminding him of the night he hadn’t been able to forget.

Christian, the night they’d shared, was like the tide against the rocks. It was constant and wearing--at the edge of his mind during the day, pounding at him during the night. He’d been stupid and the lying coward she’d called him. He missed her, and he was afraid he was losing her. Losing whatever connection they’d always seemed to have.

To hell with this.

Brayden took a chance. He reached up and cupped her face.

"I’m sorry," he said.

"For what?" Her brow furrowed.

Brayden bit down. "For being stupid. For pushing you away. You were right, I’m an ass. I’m not like....

I can’t always say.... Hell."

The frown between her brows deepened.

Sighing, he tried again. "I was wrong, that morning. I was wrong. You were right."

Her eyes searched his and he wondered what they saw. And still, she didn’t say anything.

"I miss you." God did he miss her. The smell of her, her smile, her laugh.

That smoky gaze narrowed before she slid her eyes closed.

Please don’t let it be too late. Brayden leaned closer, stretched his hand around to lose his fingers in the short hair at her nape and noticed it had grown since the last time he’d held her so. He grazed the curve of her ear with his thumb, felt her pulse bounce in her neck.

He lowered his mouth to hers. Her lips, her skin was as soft as he remembered. Slowly, he traced her mouth with his tongue, daring her to kiss him back, hoping she would. On a trembling sigh, she opened her mouth. Brayden pulled her close, held her tight as he deepened the kiss. She tasted just as sweet as he remembered like a dark forbidden fruit. The kiss lengthened, deepened and she twined her arms around his neck. Her curves pressed against him, and images from a night spent in her arms flashed unbidden in his mind. He knew the paleness of her breasts, the way her skin dipped near her hipbone, the mole on the right buttock cheek. The way she kissed, tasted, smelled. All the memories slammed into him and Brayden wondered absently what the hell he’d been thinking to turn her away before.

Just as he tilted his head, her hands came up and pushed against his shoulders. She broke the kiss. "We can’t do this." Her eyes looked at his mouth.

"Why?" He held her in the loose circle of his arms. She fit perfectly. She took a deep breath and he rested his forehead against hers.

"There’s just-there’s just... There’s too much going on right now." Her whispered words warmed against his mouth.

"Like what?"

The silence between them stretched. Why wouldn’t she open up?

"Talk. To. Me. We’ve always talked about everything."

And they damn well would again. Then, another thought occurred to him. She’d broken the kiss. She’d pulled away, pushed him away.

Brayden straightened and stepped back, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Is there something between you and Morris?" His breath huffed out. Not that he had anyone to blame but himself if there were. The thought tightened his gut.

She shook her head. "No. Gabe’s just a friend."

A friend? A friend that came over in the middle of the night? So if that wasn’t it, then what? She wouldn’t meet his eyes, always darting away. Nervous and scared.

"I don’t know what is going on with you, but I wish to hell you’d tell me. And it’s not just me that’s noticed. Is it this wacko calling? Who the hell is he? Do you know him? What damn gift did he leave you?" Brayden paced away from her and turned back.

Christian bent down and picked up the pieces of the phone.

"If that’s the only damn phone you have, I’ll get you two more." Then she could answer it in whatever part of the condo she was in.

"No, there’s one upstairs, but I keep the ringer turned off."

He grunted. "Mom and Dad want to know what the deal is with you. They all blame me for it, and they’re right. Tori wants to know when you’re coming home and Jesslyn and Taylor treat me like Iago or something and--"

"This has nothing to do with you." Her words jerked him back. He stared at her across her kitchen.

Why? Why couldn’t he get past her walls? Get even a glimpse inside her fortress? Her words hurt more than he would have thought. Not have anything to do with him?

"Do you still mean the words you said to me?" he asked, though he hadn’t meant to.

"What words?" She dumped the shattered plastic and wires of the broken phone in the trash.

"That night. The next morning." I love you. Had she meant it?

She paused, and though her back was to him, she stiffened. "I’m not answering that. I’m not talking about that."

Brayden cursed, his worry turning to a simmering anger. "You’re not talking much about anything these days are you?"

When she turned to face him, his breath caught. Her eyes were haunted pools of pain.

"Talk to me," he said yet again, slapping his hand on the counter. "Tell me what the hell is going on with you. I can’t stand to see you this way."

She shook her head, but her eyes filled and tears fell over her cheeks.

Brayden couldn’t handle her crying. He walked to her and pulled her to him.

"Ah, Chris, don’t. Don’t. Come on, baby, tell me. Talk to me. I’ll help you. Whatever’s going on, I’ll fix it." Or he’d find a way to.

"I-I can’t."

He slid his eyes closed and pulled back, cupping her face in his hands. "You mean, you won’t."

Even as he reached up to wipe the silvery trail of tears away, she shook her head.

Brayden didn’t know if he wanted to kiss her or shake her.

"I think-I think you should go," she told him, pulling out of his hold and walking to the sink.

Go? He could only stand there. "I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on with you, Christian. And if you don’t, by God, I’ll find another way to discover whatever it is you’re hiding."

Her hands shook as she placed them on the countertop, fisting them until her knuckles were white.

What inner battle was she waging?

"Please leave."

Brayden looked to the ceiling as though hoping for the answer to all his questions to appear there. But no floating hand appeared to write a single blessed thing.

"Are you going to tell me about these creepy phone calls? And this midnight present?"

"No."

Damn her.