"You were loved." The word came out harsh, desperate. "You were fucking loved, Lena. More than anyone has ever loved you or ever will."
Lena paused on the other end of the line before speaking again. "That's not love, Killian. That's obsession."
"It's both." I was out the door now, climbing into my truck. "And you felt it too. You can't tell me you didn't."
Silence.
I could hear her breathing on the other end, could picture her gripping the steering wheel, tears streaming down her face.
"Lena…"
"I have to go."
"Don't hang up."
I heard her suck in a harsh, ragged breath. "Goodbye, Killian."
The line went dead then. I stared at the phone for half a second before throwing it on the passenger seat and starting theengine. The tracker showed she was about two hours ahead of me, maybe more depending on how fast she was driving.
But I knew these roads. Knew shortcuts she wouldn't think to take.
I could catch her.
I would catch her.
She wasn't leaving me. She didn't get to decide that. We belonged together, and I'd make her understand that even if I had to drag her back kicking and screaming.
The truck roared to life and I peeled out of the driveway, gravel spraying behind me.
I could make it in ninety minutes if I pushed it.
My hands gripped the steering wheel so tight my knuckles went white, my mind racing through scenarios. What I'd say when I found her. How I'd convince her to come back. What I'd do if she refused.
She was mine.
She'd always been mine.
And I was bringing her home.
Ninety minutes later, just as I’d predicted the tracker led me to a restaurant called The Roosevelt Bar and Grille. It was some upscale place in Richmond's downtown area with white tablecloths and waiters in pressed uniforms. The kind of place that was supposed to be safe, civilized, far removed from obsessive men who tracked their women across state lines.
She thought she could run here and I wouldn't follow.
She’s wrong.
I sat in my truck across the street for ten minutes, watching through the large front windows. Lena was at a table near the back with an older woman who had to be her Aunt Ellen. They were talking, Lena's hands animated as she spoke, her aunt listening with a concerned expression.
Telling her everything, probably.
About the stalking. The manipulation. How dangerous I was.
My jaw clenched.
I couldn't storm in there, make a scene. That would only prove her right, make me look like the unhinged stalker she was painting me as.
No,I needed to be smart about this.
I waited.
