“You know I don’t like it when you swear,” he said lowly.
She snorted. “Fuck you, Jack. We’re done. Don’t send flowers and don’t call any longer.” She’d add that he shouldn’t key her car again, but that’d just start an argument where he’d deny it and accuse her of being paranoid, and she’d say he was a liar, and that would just keep them on the phone. “Goodbye.”
“Wait. We dated for six months. How can you just throw that away?” Now he sounded whiny.
She shook her head. What had she been thinking? He’d seemed charming and smart until he’d gotten too, well, persistent. “It’s done. I’m not answering the phone again.”
“Is it because of the guy with the dog?”
She stilled. Her body chilled. “Excuse me?”
“The big dumb hick with the dog in the truck. Do you really think you can move on from me to him?” The whine disappeared.
She eyed the deadbolt and ran through the list of knives in the kitchen. She didn’t have a gun. Yet. “Are you spying on me?” Hopefully he’d just hired somebody.
“Of course not. Why are you so paranoid?” Now he sounded calm again.
She bit her tongue until she could keep her voice placid. Her lungs fought her but she kept breathing smoothly. “I’m not playing games, Jack. Are you watching me?” What was he doing in northern Idaho? How long had he been there? Was Quint in danger? Was she?
“I am not spying on you. But you don’t think you’re going to start dating a mountain man, do you? Get serious, Heather. You and I belong together. You know that. Don’t make me show you.”
Bile rolled around in her belly. “If you keep bothering me, I will call the police.” She ended the call and set the phone next to her on the sofa.
Then she waited.
After about fifteen minutes, she stood and double-checked that the doors and windows were all locked, hopping around the house. Then she chose several knives from the kitchen and went to her bedroom, locking that door and stashing the knives where she could get to them easily.
Then she shook her head. Maybe she was a little paranoid.
Even so, she got settled onto her knees to push a dresser in front of the door, knowing she wouldn’t get a second of sleep until she got it into place. Her cast rested on the wooden floor, and she was careful not to twist her injured ankle while pushing with her arms and torso. Then she grasped the side of the dresser and pulled herself up.
What about the window?
It faced the fenced back yard, trees, and quiet creek. A bar attached to the base kept it from being forced open. If Jack somehow tried to break the glass, she’d awaken for sure. Although she needed to get her hands on a gun.
Was she overreacting?
Probably.
But she’d rather be safe than sorry. She looked at the phone she’d placed on her bedside table. The urge to call Quint was overwhelming, and not just because he’d probably kiss her again. Although if Jack had gone nutty, she was placing Quint in danger by just hanging out with him.
She needed to stop watchingStalker Snappedon the crime channel. Her imagination was going too wild. Jack was an ass who had a big ego she’d dented, and he was just messing with her. Although, either he was having her watched, or he actually was in town, so his actions had elevated him to a threat. Maybe a dorky one, but sometimes people went crazy.
Was she being stalked, or was she overreacting? Either way, Jack hadn’t done anything yet that she could put in a police report. Unless following her to Silverville counted, and she doubted that was enough. Even so, she’d go down to the station in the morning and file a preliminary report or whatever they were called. Just in case.
Yeah. She really did have to stop watching true crime shows.
After she got a gun.
Chapter 8
Quint reached his cabin and sighed at seeing the woman sitting on the front porch swing his mama had insisted he install. The eaves protected her from the falling snow. Zena looked up from the passenger seat, and her tail didn’t wag. “I know. I should’ve listened to you,” he murmured, opening his door and letting the dog jump to the ground. His body was on fire from kissing Heather, and his temper wasn’t far behind.
Even so, he calmly shut his door and strode up his snowy walk. His Christmas lights were on and sparkling since he’d scheduled them on a timer. “Jolene? Why are you on my front porch?”
She’d wrapped herself in a heavy jacket, but her nose was red from the chilly evening. “I wanted to talk to you. You’re home later than I expected.” There was a clear question in the statement.
He shoved his hands in his pockets. “We don’t have anything to talk about on a Sunday night. I really don’t want to be featured in the newspaper.” Chasing glory wasn’t something he’d ever tried, even when he’d been a pretty good running back in high school and college. It was the strategy and joy of the game he’d loved. Now he loved fighting nature and outmaneuvering fires to help people. “You have to understand me that much.”
