Connor Maddox has very likely committed these crimes; there is an overwhelming amount of evidence stacked against him, which has become difficult to dispute. Detective Williams hasmade it clear they’re no longer pursuing other avenues, and once the final report is done, I’ll be free to work on other cases for the police. Part of me thinks after this case, I’m going to take some time off. My mental health has been suffering since the Thomas Vale case, and with the upcoming appeal, time off would be good to finish my renovations and at least have a homely environment to come home to after stressful days. Lottie agrees. She confronted me last week to confess she’s been concerned about me, but I told her now that Jonesy and I are in a good place, things have improved so much. And they have.
He’s been a sounding board for my thoughts on the case. He’s not once tried to convince me of anything, only expressing ideas and writing notes, the way he used to when we were at college, poring over case studies. It’s like we’re two different people. This case has allowed us to see each other in a new light, and I hope it carries through to dinner club when we’re no longer seeing each other every day.
Which brings me to my next problem. What am I going to do about my sleeping issue when Jonesy isn’t spending every night at my house? Talking to an independent professional seems like a good idea. But I’m reluctant to start until things clear up with the case, and now Thomas’s appeal. Otherwise, it’s like trying to look for stars whilst you’re still in the fog. Once the fog clears, I’ll start up with a therapist.
I use the spare set of keys that Jonesy gave me to slip into his apartment. The air is still, dust particles floating aimlessly.
“Jonesy?”
Silence answers me, and I tiptoe into the apartment. It’s modern, a new building in the area with little character on the facade. Just floor-to-ceiling windows. But already as I walk in, it’s so him. To my left, a kitchen that sparkles; it's so clean. It leads into a cozy living area with a homey couch. He’s even got throw pillows, which somewhat surprises me, considering there was a full six months at college where he didn’t own a towel; he just let himself drip-dry like a dog, shaking his hair out and splattering everything and everyone in his vicinity.
My phone buzzes in my pocket.
Jonesy:Running late. I’ll be there in fifteen.
I take the opportunity to nose around, along with his pillows and a throw blanket that still has a tag on it—odd—he has photos up on the shelves. I know he’s close with his family, so I assume the photos will be of them. And mostly it is: graduation, his medal parade when he returned from overseas.
But there's one photo front and center, and it’s of the dinner club.
One of the many trips we’ve taken over the years. This one is when we visited Whistler inCanada. The group is laughing about something the photographer said. It’s one of the few photos I’ve seen where Jonesy and I are standing next to each other, his arm around my shoulder as he towers over me. I have a huge grin on my face, and I look so happy and carefree.
I haven’t felt that way in a long time.
It’s not the only part of the photograph that is so jarring. Because whilst everyone else is facing the camera, Jonesy’s face is tilted down to mine as if he’s making sure I’m happy and enjoying the moment as much as I should. I hold the photo for another minute, my mind racing with thoughts ofwhat if. He’s looking at me like he looks at me now when he thinks I’m not watching. Like he’s always waiting to see my reaction. It’s confronting, and the feeling of unease in my stomach starts to grow. It’s seeping through my body, and I don’t think I like it. It’s not bad...it feels good.
And that’s the problem.
I can’t let this happen. I can’t get feelings for a man who broke my heart and then found every conceivable way to infuriate me for the last eight years. I absolutely cannot fall for Jacob Jones. Regardless of how he looks at me. Regardless of how he settles me, just by sleeping with his arms wrapped around me. Regardless of the fact that our chemistry has grown tenfold since he pulled out his monster dick and indulged every horrendous fantasy I’ve had. Fantasies that I’ve hatedmyself for.
It feels like he’s bringing me back to life. I was on the brink...I still am. I’m standing on the ledge, but now the wind has calmed, and I don’t feel like I’m about to be blown over anymore. If he hadn’t been here supporting me, I don’t know where I’d be, and that terrifies me. I can’t rely on him. I can’t rely on anyone. Not if I want to protect my heart. I can’t go through the despair if he leaves again. It would break me this time. No...I have to protect myself at all costs, and I absolutely cannot indulge this fantasy any longer.
I place the photo frame back carefully, wiping some stray dust off the glass as I do before moving around to look through his drawers and cupboards. There has to be something in here that makes him unattractive. A jar of teeth, perhaps. Or a bag full of women’s underwear. That would be disgusting. As I close the side table drawer, I hear a loud thump in the back of the apartment, which I assume is Jonesy’s bedroom. If he has a girlfriend he hasn’t told me about living here, I’m going to lose my shit. Like seriously, nuts cut off, stiletto up his ass, lose it.
I storm down the corridor to confront the woman I’d created in my mind. Before I reach past the first closed door, the lights turn off, and I’m left in total darkness.
Jonesy
I watch Katie on my phone from my bedroom. As soon as I let the book fall to the floor, she was ready to fight, but now, my little opossum is stark still, all except for her fingers, which are clenching into a tight fist,clenching, unclenching, clenching, unclenching.
The night cameras I’d set up over the last few days have the entire apartment covered. Nothing like a little prep work to amp up the fear factor. Everything we’ve done together so far has been in the moment, no planning, no preparation. But tonight I want to take it a step further, push her to her limit in an unfamiliar environment. Given that she’s never been to my apartment before, this works perfectly. Especially as no one is going to ask why I’m hooking up night vision cameras around. She’s safe here, even if she thinks she’s not.
I watch the screen, my eyes fixed on the way her chest heaves, her breasts rising and falling as she reaches for the wall. When she finds it, she flattens her back against it, as if she’s trying to feel her way around a haunted house at the fair.
I drop another book with a thud, and I hear her shout, “Oh hell no! No way.”
She scurries back toward the living room, and part of me worries I’ve pushed her too far because she’s heading toward the front door. But she doesn’t. She feels her way around the room before crouching behind the arm of the couch. Pulling out her phone, the light is bright,illuminating her face. I pull out the burner phone I bought today and send her a text.
Unknown:Do you ever feel like someone is watching you?
I watch the screen and zoom in on her face. Eyes wide, she blows out a steady breath.
“Not today, Satan!” she shouts.
I chuckle into my palm before quickly replying.
Unknown:Am I Satan?
“Asshole. I swear to God, if that’s not you, Jonesy, I’m going to haunt you for letting me get murdered in your apartment!” she screams out. I don’t even need the microphones I placed around the room; the girl is loud. I mean, I knew that already, given how many arguments we’ve gotten into over the years, and the way she cries out when I fuck her. But still, this hasn’t been discussed at all, and the she-devil is still ready to go down fighting.
