“It was the same necklace I’d given to the police. It should have still been in evidence.” Chloe lifted her glass to her lips, only to find it empty.
That moment had rocked her to her foundations as the question popped into her head:What if Jackson was her stalker?Just thinking it had made her so sick to her stomach, she’d had to run to the bathroom to throw up, had then lain on the floor for a good half an hour before she’d finally been able to get up, but the question wouldn’t leave her. “I brought the necklace to the jewelry store, hoping someone there might remember who bought it.”
“Did they?” Jayla asked, nudging a bottle of water Chloe’s way, but she ignored it in favor of pouring another glass of scotch.
“Ah, yes, the Diana,” the manager told her as he gently removed the necklace from the box with gloved hands. “An exquisite piece.”
“Do you remember who bought it?” Chloe asked in a rush. Her hands fumbled with her phone, but she managed to bring up a picture of Jackson. “Was it this man?”
The manager frowned. “It was a woman. I remember the sale. She said it was a gift for her future daughter-in-law.”
“The manager remembered.” She shook her head. “It wasn’t Jackson.”
But Chloe hadn’t been relieved. More questions swarmed her brain. What if Jackson had roped his mother into buying it? What if he’d sold the woman a story of a relationship that hadn’t existed then? She had yet to meet his mom, but what mother wouldn’t believeher son? Chloe had then berated herself for letting her paranoia run wild. What she needed to do was confront Jackson. Leaving the box on the table so he’d see it when he got home, she’d been a trembling mess when she asked him, “Why do you have this, Jackson?”
She wasn’t sure what she expected, maybe a look of guilt or even anger. Instead, Jackson picked up the box and uttered, “Shit. I forgot I still had this. I checked it out of evidence when I took your case. I need to get this back.” Grinning at her, he kissed her cheek. “Thanks, babe.”
So plausible, so believable, yet something deep inside told her he was hiding something, and the question lingered: What if Jackson was her stalker?
“He said he checked it out of evidence and then forgot about it.” Chloe let out a small laugh devoid of humor. “I tried to get answers another way. I searched for anything in the house he’d written on, and aside from his signature, which was little better than a squiggle, I couldn’t find anything. So, I’d say something like, ‘Hey, could you write this down for me?’ hoping to see his handwriting, but he’d always say, ‘I’ll text it to you,’ and I was afraid that if I tried to push the issue, all it would do was raise his suspicion.
“I felt like I was constantly walking on eggshells. I wasn’t eating, I was barely sleeping. I was doubting everything one minute and questioning my sanity the next, and honestly, playing amateur sleuth was stressing me out so badly I was making myself sick. So,I went ahead with my original plan and told Jackson that I needed a break. I played it off as the pressure of performing.”
“I’ve been under so much stress at work, Jackson, the expectation… I just need some time to myself to think and get my head on straight.”
“I’ve noticed you’ve been off lately, but you shouldn’t be alone. You need someone to take care of you. I can help you. Believe me, I know all about work stress.”
“He tried to talk me out of it, but conceded when I said that it would just be for a little while, that I just needed a few days alone, maybe a week.”
“He didn’t give you trouble?” Erik asked with some surprise.
“Not that night.” That night, he’d looked sad, but understanding.
“Whatever you need, Chloe, baby. I love you. I will always love you, and when you’re ready, I’ll be there.”
“When did the trouble start?”
“There were a few times I felt like I was being watched, but I told myself it was just my leftover trust issues, that I was being hyperaware, and that it would pass. And then there were the texts. One a day to start, just telling me he loved me, that he was there for me if I needed him, which was sweet, and I was sure to answer, but then on the fourth day, things shifted. He started sending multiple texts asking when he could come home, and even though I told him I needed a bit more time, he kept asking. Then the asking turned into demanding, and I knew I had to end things.”
Jayla shot her a look of commiseration. “He didn’t take it well?”
“I was too afraid to do it in person, so I called while he was working, when I knew he wouldn’t be able to answer, and left him a voicemail. His response was a text that just saidNo. That was it. No. That night, he discovered I’d changed the locks on my apartment.”
Too scared to be by herself, she was at an old school friend’s house when the first text came through.
WHY THE FUCK IS MY KEY NOT WORKING CHLOE?!
DID YOU CHANGE THE FUCKING LOCKS?!
DO YOU THINK THAT WILL FUCKING STOP ME IF I WANT TO GET IN?
WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?
YOU’RE MINE CHLOE!
WE LOVE EACH OTHER!
WE DON’T END LIKE THIS!
