After pulling the picture off my door, I hurry back downstairs to my car, practically sprinting in case my stalker is still lurking. Before I know it, I’ve typed Specter’s address into my phone’s navigation and I’m on my way. This is either the stupidest or the smartest thing I’ve ever done. Only time will tell.
His house is in Crestvale, about a twenty-minute drive, and that surprises me. He doesn’t seem like a guy who would live in an upscale suburb, but what do I really know about him? I’m about to trust him with my life, so I have to hope my instincts about him are correct. He could be worse than any stalker.
The navigation leads me down a road where the homes arespread out and set back behind massive wrought iron gates until I stop in front of one that I can’t really see from the street. There’s a code panel on the gate, and I suppose I could hit the intercom, but I choose to call Specter directly instead.
My fingers are still shaking as I grab my cell and punch in his number. It rings a few times and my mind spirals. What if he’s with someone? What if he doesn’t even remember me? What if?—
“Who’s this?” he answers.
My stomach flutters from the sound of his voice. “Specter, it’s Cashmere.” Dammit, my voice is trembling.
“What’s wrong?”
“Um…” My voice cracks before I can finish speaking.
“Fuck. Where are you?”
“Outside your gate.”
“What? You’re here at my house?”
“Yes. Sorry, I don’t know why?—”
“Come through the gate and follow the circular drive around to the front. I’ll be right there.”
“Okay.”
He hangs up as the gate buzzes and draws open, and I follow his instructions, driving past thick trees until a stunning mansion is revealed. It looks like something straight out of old Europe. I’ve heard about the homes here but never seen one up close. What does he do for a living to live in a place like this?
Before I’ve even parked, the front door flies open and he’s there, marching towards me. He’s wearing sweatpants and a plain T-shirt, with bare feet even in the cold, and the image is startling. He’s always dressed in sleek clothes, his hair tamed and his demeanor buttoned up, but right now, he looks… normal.
Specter opens my car door, and when I step out, his eyes burn with rage. “What the fuck happened to your face?” He reaches out to touch me, but I flinch and he pulls his hand back. “Who did this?”
“I-I don’t know. He attacked me in the parking lot of my apartment building and he tried to get me in a van. He hit me.”
Specter’s jaw ticks, and if I ever wondered what pure unbridled fury looks like, it’s his face right now. “He was at your home?”
I nod. “I didn’t know where else to go. I didn’t feel safe, and Rudy doesn’t have room. I should’ve called first. I’m sorry. I just?—”
“Stop,” he says softly. “I told you to come to me if you needed help.”
My throat tightens, clogged with the emotions I’ve been choking down since I was attacked. “I have a stalker, Specter, and it’s not a regular one. This isn’t some obsessed fan or client. He knows me.”
“How long?”
“Since the night I saw you in my parking lot.”
His jaw twitches. “I fucking knew it. Why didn’t you say something?”
“It was the first time, and you were there. That was confusing.” A shiver runs down my spine.
Specter seems to notice. “Let’s get inside.”
I follow him, allowing him to guide me with his hand on my lower back. I don’t know him, but his presence and protective energy are immediately soothing.
“We’ll go through the kitchen so you don’t have to meet the guys.”
“The guys?”
