Rafe: Five hours too long. Can’t stop thinking about how you looked this morning, all sleepy and naked in our bed.
A shiver ran through me that had nothing to do with the autumn breeze.
Me: Keep talking like that and I'll have to take care of myself before our date.
Rafe: Send pictures.
I laughed out loud, earning a curious glance from a passing dog walker.
Me: You're at work!
Rafe: Office has a lock on the door for a reason.
Me: Incorrigible.
Rafe: Only for you. What are you wearing?
Smirking, I typed out my response before I could think better of it.
Me: Green wrap dress. No bra. Tiny lace thong that would disappear if you slid a finger beneath it.
I watched the three dots appear and disappear several times before his response came through.
Rafe: You're killing me.
I grinned victoriously.
Me: Poor baby. I'm at the building now. See you tonight. Don't be too late.
Rafe: Wouldn't dream of it. Be safe.
I tucked my phone away as I entered the building, nodding to the security guards who now knew me by name. The elevator ride to the penthouse gave me time to consider what I might wear for our date. Something new, something Rafe hadn't seen me in before. I wanted tonight to feel special, like the fresh start it represented.
When the elevator doors slid open, I stepped into the hallway with a lightness in my step that had been missing for too long. Even the lingering fear of the stalker couldn't dampen my mood.
That changed the moment I opened the penthouse door.
The silence hit me first. No Edward in the foyer to greet me, no sounds of Lucia puttering in the kitchen. Just a stillness that raised the hair on the back of my neck. Wrong. Everything felt wrong.
"Edward?" I called out. "Lucia?"
No response.
I moved cautiously through the entryway, my purse still clutched in my suddenly clammy hand. The penthouse was meticulously clean as always, nothing out of place, and yet something about the quality of the silence made my heart race.
"Edward?" I tried again, louder this time.
As I rounded the corner into the living room, the scream that tore from my throat seemed to belong to someone else entirely. Edward and Lucia sat bound to dining chairs, ducttape across their mouths, blood trickling from wounds on their faces. Edward's right eye was swollen shut, and Lucia's normally immaculate chef's whites were stained with crimson splotches.
Their wide, terrified eyes fixed on me, then darted to something—someone—behind me.
"Hello, little dancer."
The voice froze my blood. Soft, almost gentle, utterly at odds with the horror before me. I whirled to find a man stepping out from the shadows of the hallway, a knife held casually in one hand.
My stalker.
Chapter 33
