"Okay," she whispers. "I believe you."
I press my forehead to hers. Breathe her in.
"I'm going to make us dinner," I tell her. "Then I need to do a full perimeter sweep. Check every camera, every sensor. Make sure there are no gaps."
"Don't leave me alone."
"You'll be right there in the kitchen with me. And when I do the sweep, you're staying in my room with the door locked." I brush my lips against her temple. "I'm not letting you out of my sight."
"Okay."
When this is over, I promise to myself, when I've dealt with the threat the only way I know how, I'm going to give her everything she asked for.
And more.
7
Diamond
I'm curled up in Cesar's bed when I hear the front door open.
Every muscle in my body locks. The stalker, the knife, the photos.
"It's me."
I exhale so hard my ribs ache.
He appears in the doorway and I forget how to breathe for an entirely different reason.
Tactical gear. Black pants, black shirt stretched across his chest, some kind of vest with pockets and straps. There's a rifle slung across his back. An actualrifle. He moves through the room doing a visual sweep before his eyes land on me, and something in his posture shifts from hunter to something else entirely.
"Perimeter's clear." He unslings the rifle, sets it against the wall like it's nothing. Like he does this every day. "Added sensors to the north ridge. Adjusted the camera angles on the east side. Ifhe gets within a hundred yards, I'll know before he takes another step."
I watch him strip off the vest. Pull the shirt over his head. All that ink, all that muscle, moving in a way that says this body isn't for show. It's a weapon.
The guys I've slept with—they worked out for Instagram. Spent more time taking mirror selfies than actually lifting. Their muscles were decorative.
Cesar's muscles have killed someone.
I should not find that as hot as I do.
"You had a rifle."
"I have several."
I shake my head. "I don't know what that is, but my body seems to have opinions about it."
He crosses to the bed, sits on the edge. Close enough that I can smell the night air on him, feel the heat radiating off his skin.
"What kind of opinions?"
I sit up, letting the blanket fall. His hoodie swallows me, but underneath I'm still in those tiny shorts, still bare everywhere else.
"The kind that are going to get me in trouble."
"You're already in trouble." His hand comes up, cups the back of my neck. His grip is firm. Possessive. "You've been in trouble since the day you walked off that helicopter."
"Because of the stalker?"
