Tentacles of fear threaded their way through his body as he stared at the envelope. He’d seen one just like it before. Actually, he’d seen three before. But those letters had been in the mailbox, not in his room. Not on his bed.
Cold and clammy, he wanted to vomit. He’d been in this room. The stalker.Is that what he is? A stalker?Whoever was writing the letters had been in Patrick’s room, had been in his personal space, had touched his bed. Patrick’s gaze flew around the room—the closet, the dresser, the bookshelf, the bedside table, then back to the bed. His bed. Panic swelled as he wondered if the guy had been through his things, handled his stuff. Had anything been taken?
His legs were shaky as he backed away from the bed. Slow and steady steps. His back hit the doorframe and he jumped.Get a grip!Patrick navigated the hall and flew back down the stairs, only stopping once he was in the living room. He could feel his heart racing, and the tingling of his extremities as adrenaline roared through his system. He clenched his fists, then concentrated on forcing his fingers to relax.
“Patrick?” Simon spoke his name, bringing him back into the moment, and he looked at his friend, the concern evident in his eyes. “What’s the matter?”
Patrick swallowed but couldn’t answer, couldn’t force the words past the lump in his throat. Simon stood and within moments his warm hands were gripping Patrick’s upper arms. Patrick focused on that simple touch, which grounded him.
“I—”
“You’re scaring me. Patrick?” Simon’s eyes clouded with worry.
“Sorry. I….” Patrick looked at the ceiling. “My room. There’s a letter.”
Simon’s mouth instantly hardened into a straight line. “One of those love letters? You got another one?”
Patrick nodded mutely.
“It’s in your room?” Simon’s eyes were wide.
“Yeah. On the bed,” he managed to stammer.
“What did it say? Was it the same as the others?” Simon’s hand rubbed reassuringly, gentle strokes along his skin.
“I don’t know. I didn’t open it.” Patrick glanced away before meeting Simon’s gaze again. “I freaked out. I saw it and….”
“That’s okay. I’d probably have done the same thing.” Simon drew Patrick into his arms and gave him a hug. “The guy’s a sick bastard and would freak anybody out.”
Patrick soaked up the hug, melting into Simon’s hold for just a moment. The scent of him filled Patrick’s senses, a smell that would forever be associated with comfort—clean, fresh, all Simon. Patrick took a deep breath and pulled away, trying to get himself together.
“Sorry. I just can’t believe he got into the house.”
“The door was locked and there wasn’t any sign of a break-in when we got home. Maybe one of the guys put it there?” Simon’s theory could have some merit. They shared the four-bedroom house with two other guys. Bruce and Mike were good housemates, but the more Patrick thought about it, they weren’t likely to put Patrick’s mail in his room.
“Maybe,” Patrick said, but with no conviction. “But they usually leave the mail on the hall table. I can’t think why they’d suddenly start a personal delivery service.”
Simon nodded. “Yeah, it would be out of character.” He met Patrick’s gaze, his hazel eyes serious. “I think maybe it’s time for you to bring in the cops. This asshole has gone too far.”
Patrick knew he was right. Simon and his other friends had suggested Patrick go to the police before now, but a few love letters left in the mailbox, no matter how unwanted, seemed like a waste of valuable police resources.
Patrick took a deep breath to calm himself. “One step at a time. How about we see what it says, see if it’s the same as the others? Then check with Bruce and Mike. We’ll need to rule out for certain that it wasn’t one of them who put it on the bed.”
“Sounds like a good plan.” Simon smiled and headed toward the doorway. “C’mon. Let’s get this out of the way. Oh, and Patrick?” He stopped and turned to look at Patrick. “You might want to add step three to your plan.”
Patrick drew his brows together. “Step three?”
“Yeah. As cute as you look in those little red briefs, you might want to actually put on some clothes before seeing the others.”
Simon chuckled and took the stairs two at a time. Patrick followed, blushing slightly but glad the tension had lessened. Simon always knew what to say to make him feel better. With Simon by his side, facing that letter didn’t seem nearly as bad.
“Do you thinkwe should touch it? What if the police want to check the paper for fingerprints?” Simon stood next to the bed and studied the envelope.
“IfI call the police.”
“Patrick.” Simon’s eyes flashed a warning.
“I just don't want to be seen as a nuisance. The police have better things to do—you know, like catching real criminals.”
