But…if they weren’t from him?
Oh, lord, what if they weren’t?
That meant some unknown person had access to where I worked. Where Ilived.
The text messages all but confirmed there might be another player. Someone watching me. Following me. I couldn’t explain away the appearance of the texts in the same way I tried with the flowers, the book, and the print of the famous art piece.
“Well, shit,” I breathed.
A full-bodied shudder rattled through me. Putting the glass to my lips, I chugged.
“I’m messed up!” Because that wasn’t a healthy reaction pulsing in my veins. I wasn’t scared, although if I guessed the tone of the messages correctly, I should be.
No…that tingle in my blood was excitement.
“Stop it,” I snapped. “Here’s what you’re going to do.”
Tomorrow was Friday. I would go to the police station first thing in the morning. They could track the number on my phone, figure out who the sick bastard was behind the message, and put a stop to the idiocy. I didn’t have time to deal with a stalker.
“Crap, it will have to be done over lunch,” I muttered. There were several depositions taking place in the morning, and the senior partner I worked with regularly was letting me take the lead on one of those.
Not even a threat on my phone would stop me from pursuing that opportunity.
With a plan in place, I began some deep breathing exercises to clear my mind. When that didn’t work, I poured and drank another glass of red.
The numbness creeping around the edges of my brain was the only excuse for my actions. My hands seemed to develop a mind of their own. The phone blinked to life in my lap. A finger swiped the screen, and the text message popped to life.
“‘Don’t say yes,’” I read. “Who the hell are you to tell me what to do?”
Shaking my head, I poured out the rest of the bottle and took a long sip. I shouldn’t respond. Shouldn’t feed the delusions of the sender. Whoever it was would be caught by the cops by this time tomorrow night. Case closed.
But a nagging voice in the back of my head wanted to fight. To resist being told what to do. I made my own choices.
Me: That’s a bold statement.
I groaned, dropping my head back on the cushion. Engaging was stupid. Now the police would see that, and someone would likely scold me.
The phone pinged a second later.
Unknown: You didn’t listen.
“Who are you to—” I shook my head, fuming.
Me: It’s my life, and I get to say what happens.
Me: PS, I did say yes.
There. That was the end of it. I looked at the empty bottle and the pitiful amount of red in my glass. I knew better than to get any more.
I also knew better than to taunt whoever was stalking me, but here I was, a basket of poor decisions.
Unknown: You’ve been a bad girl.
My legs clenched tight as my eyes scanned the words. Heat pulsed low in my belly.
“Oh, that did not just happen!” I muttered.
I shifted on the cushion, trying to erase the physical reaction.
