Opening the inbox my heart drops down into my stomach and then flies up into my throat. They are ALL from the same email. The one that sent the initial message. My mind repeats it over and over:Did you get my note? I meant it. Too bad about your truck.
Suddenly Sterling is straddling the bench seat right next to me. I must have made some kind of distressed sound, because he has one arm around my shoulder, while the other is moving to pull my laptop closer to him.
Before he can accomplish this, I click open the first email. It’s a picture of me yesterday. Standing in Doe’s talking to Piper.The photo was taken from outside. Sterling swears under his breath.
“Christ, this fucker is ballsy,” he grinds out. I don’t respond, I go to the next email. It is another picture of me. Going up the stairs to my office with my coffee in hand. Like the first e-mail from today, there is no message just the picture.
The other e-mails are more of the same. Pictures of me throughout the day yesterday. At my desk working, Piper coming up to bring me lunch, me leaving the office at the end of the day to head down to meet Sterling, Sterling and I getting in his truck. After each e-mail the pressure on my chest feels tighter and tighter.
My finger hovers over the trackpad of my laptop. I’m afraid to open the last one. Sterling does it for me. It is of me standing at the counter just a few minutes ago, making coffee. This email actually has a message.
Pay attention, you never know who is watching.
I stand up suddenly. Not knowing what I need, but knowing that I need to be moving. I push the table away and begin pacing around the small space of the kitchen. Sterling is up and on me before I know what is happening. He pulls me into his arms and hugs me tightly.
“Breathe with me, Meg,” he whispers to me. For the first time, I realize I am wheezing. I have never had a panic attack. This must be what one feels like. “Just follow me,” he says. After a few seconds, something clicks in my brain. I don’t know if it is the feeling of the pressure of his arms, or the rhythm of his breathing. Maybe both. My breathing becomes easier and my heart rate slows a bit.
As I calm down, Sterling pulls away a fraction of an inch. Just far enough that he can herd me to the couch. Gently, he pulls me down onto the couch with him. I’m still numb and a bithazy from my panic attack but my senses start to come back to me slowly.
Both of my hands are still clenched tightly into fists under my chin. He takes one hand and uncurls it finger by finger until my hand is open. He then lays it down on top of my thigh. He does the same with the left. Reaching back for my right hand he starts to slowly massage and inspect each finger and my palms. He gives each hand equal treatment. He growls when he sees the crescent shaped scratches that my short fingernails have left behind.
We are both silent. I’m grateful for a few moments of peace to quiet the white noise that my brain experienced when it short circuited for a second. I notice that while all of Sterling’s attention is on me, he is also hyper alert. His eyes are darting around the room to each window.
“I’m sorry about that little breakdown,” I try to joke, but it comes out sounding a bit more strangled then I wanted it to. I was going for witty but I know I missed the mark.
Sterling gets an stormy look in his eye. I shrink back for a second thinking it is directed at me, until I hear the words coming out of his mouth.
“You have nothing to apologize for, so don’t do it again. Do you understand me,” he demands in a low tone that shouldn’t do things to my insides but it does anyway.
“This asshole is going to pay, I promise you that. He will be so fucked up by the time we are through with him, he will have to drink his food through a straw,” the words are said with such a quiet fury, I can’t help but believe him.
With my senses coming back to me, I realize that I’m draped over his lap. My back is pressed up against the arm of the couch. One of his hands is cupping the back of my neck, his thumb rubbing tiny circles against the back of my neck. His other arm is banded around my waist.
At first I was cold, and now I am feeling a bit warm. I go to try to get up, but I am stopped by Sterlings strong arm and his deep voice.
“What are you doing,” he asks. Although, it sounds more like a statement then a question. I answer him anyway.
“I’m getting off of you, you can’t be comfortable with me all sitting on top of you,” as soon as the words come out of my mouth I knew they were a mistake.
He chuckles, letting me know that his mind is in the gutter—right next to mine. “Honey, I am very comfortable with you sitting on me,” he smirks at me. I am obviously still not in my right mind, because as soon as I feel the soft pressure of his hand on the back of my neck I let him cuddle me closer. Resting my head on his shoulder.
Chapter 18
Sterling
Her soft breaths on my bare shoulder soothed my inner rageslightly. I couldn’t believe the balls on this mother fucker. E-mailing her all of those pictures. I knew as soon as she opened her inbox that something was wrong. She has a few physical tells. She sits up a bit straighter, her breath catches in her chest, and she gets this wrinkle in between her eyes. Almost like she is trying to concentrate.
As soon as she tensed up I stopped what I was doing. I was marginally concerned about the random person walking by the house a few minutes before. I had made a mental note to have Carter background check all the owners in the neighborhood when he got here.
Sitting down next to her, I saw the shit ton of unread e-mails, all from the same address. I recognized it immediately. At first she seemed afraid to open them. I wish I could have taken her laptop and just looked at them myself. I knew she wouldn’t let me keep the emails from her though. So, I figured we could look through them together.
I didn’t expect each one to be a picture of her from yesterday, completely oblivious of the danger near her. The last email was the icing on the shit cake. I should have gone with my gut this morning, and that e-mail just confirmed what I already knew.
Whoever it was that was taunting her, knew where she lived and had been here this morning. Just minutes before. Proving it to us by taking the picture of her making coffee in her pajamas.
While we were opening the e-mails I kept an eye on Meg, I noticed that with each one she became more and more agitated. Her legs bouncing. Her teeth biting that plush bottom lip that I wanted to suck on. Her breath becoming shorter and shorter. The last e-mail was the straw. As soon as she saw it, the color drained from her face. She looked panicked and trapped. For the second time she reminded me of a wild animal.
She didn’t even realize that she was having a panic attack. I jumped up right after she did to help her regulate her breathing and calm her down. Hugging her tightly I coached her through a few rounds of breathing. When it seemed like the worst had passed, I pulled her with me to the couch and sat her down in my lap.
