“An old friend.”
That did it. I didn’t know what pissed me off more—that cool, aloof tone she slipped into when she wanted distance, or the fact that she thought she could throw some vague answer at me and I’d back off.
Like I was too damaged to see what was right in front of me. Like I couldn’tsmellthat they were from another man.
My fists clenched at my sides. I felt the throb of it, the instinct to move, todosomething.
Anotherman.
The thought was like acid. Jealousy twisted low in my gut, hot and unfamiliar in a way that made me feel twelve kinds of out of control.
Because this wasn’t about hersafetyanymore. This was abouther.
And what wasmine.
“Hand delivered?” I asked, voice low and hard.
“No.”
“When? When were they sent?”
“Yesterday.”
“The same day you found the bear?”
“Yes.”
“Well, Sherlock, there’s your prime fucking suspect right there.”
“Don’t talk to me like I’m a child?—”
“Don’t talk to me like I’m an idiot.”
Her lips curled to a snarl. She was becoming annoyed with me. I was too much. Right now, I was too much. And I knew it. But God help me, I couldn’t stop it.
“The person who delivered the flowers did not plant the video recorder,” she said.
“How do you know that?”
“Because the person who sent the flowers doesn’t have a key to my house.”
“He broke in.”
“The flowers were left on thedoorstep!”Her voice pitched in the first explosion of emotion I’d seen from her. “Why would he leave flowers on my door, then break into my house?”
“He.”
“That’s right, Phoenix.He.”
“Who’she?”
“My ex fiancé.”
My insides started vibrating. “Give me a name.”
“None of your business.”
“Name, Rose.”
