That’s only one piece of the message. The magnolia-scentedcandle, the red ribbon on a white box, the note with a hidden acrostic… every single item tells me something. I think I finally understand.
All that’s left is for me to confirm everything by visiting the source. Except I don’t want to see Ghost again. Ever.
Only, he’llneverlet me go.
Blocking Ghost’s number and ignoring his texts has led to him breaking into my home and violating my space. If I continue to deny him contact with me, who knows what he’ll do next? For this reason—and to gain answers concerning my parents—I’m going back to the prison.
It’sonlyfor this reason. Not because I’m still fascinated by him or curious about what he wants from me. Not because I’m physically attracted to him or enthralled by his brilliant mind. It’s certainly not because he’s unlike any man, or criminal, I’ve ever met.
It can’t be.
Or I’m the one who’s insane.
After sliding from the bed, I walk over to stand in front of the mirror, assessing my appearance. The oversized sweater and leggings I’ve been wearing all day are the complete opposite of the way I usually dress. The professional, clean-cut and pressed suit is the armor I put on when facing Ghost.
But today that feels useless. This man has already found every chink in my armor and exploited them. So what’s the point in changing my clothes?
With a sigh, I walk over to blow out the candle. The flame dances, defiant, before I take a deep breath and lean in. But just as my lips part, I notice something beneath the surface of the melted wax.
There are letters. Words.
Your time is up, Doc.
Sweat breaks out across my forehead and I wipe it away with an angry swipe of the hand. He planned this. Every step, every sentence, down to the moment I’d find this note.
My time is up? For what? The ambiguity is suffocating, but that’s the point. Torture of the mind hurts more than torture of the body because it never ends.
I exhale sharply and blow out the candle, watching the wax go from translucent to opaque. Only when the threatening words are no longer visible do I move. The scent of magnolia lingers, oppressive and cloying, wrapping around me as I head for the door.
If Ghost wants to talk, then let’s fucking do it.
As the guard escorts me to the interrogation room, my pulse quickens with every step. I can’t understand Ghost’s mind enough to predict his behavior, which means…
I can’t defend myself against him.
Admitting that, even if it’s only to myself, is debilitating. But it’s too late to turn back now. Ghost won’t let me.
The guard gestures for me to enter once we reach the door. I hesitate, my hand hovering over the handle for a fraction of a second before I push it open. The moment I step inside, I feel it: his presence.
Ghost is on his feet.
It’s jarring, seeing him like that, tall and imposing on the other side of the glass. His posture is relaxed but commanding, one hand tucked casually into the pocket of his prison-issued pants, the other resting on his abdomen. He cocks his head as he watches me enter, his expression unreadable but his eyes alive with thatsharp, predatory gleam I’ve been on the other end of more times than I can count.
I stop short, my pulse hammering against my ribs as I take him in. His gaze locks onto mine. He doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, but the sheer intensity of him fills the space, making it smaller.
I force myself to take another step, then another, until I’m standing at my side of the glass. The chair in front of me feels like a barrier and a trap all at once. I grip the back of it to hide my nerves.
“Dr. Andrews,” Ghost says, his voice low and smooth, like velvet dragged over a blade. The sound of it makes my skin prickle with sexual awareness, and I hate how my body reacts. How it betrays me.
I remain standing, mirroring his stance to keep us on the same level. “You broke into my house.”
He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t so much as blink. Instead, his lips curl into an impish smile. “And?” he replies, his voice dripping with amusement. “Did you like my present?”
“No.”
His chuckle is low and dangerous, reverberating in the enclosed space. “The magnolia. The note. Even the message hidden under the wax. All deliberate. Tell me, how long did it take you to figure it out?”
“Some parts were more obvious than others.”
