Page 4 of Merciless King

Grabbing my bag, I quickly locked up, rushed out of the shop, and waved down a cab.

“Where to?”

“The closest police station, please.”

I let the sounds, the smell of the city ground me, holding off the second flashback in a week. The nightmares were a different story. They’d come back and there was no stopping them.

I’d tried to tell myself it was in my head, that I was imagining things, seeing shadows lurking in corners, but the truth was, ever since that night in the park, I’d felt like someone was watching me.

Like eyes were on me, burning into me as soon as I left my apartment or the store. Following me everywhere I went.

I gnawed on my lip as we pulled up outside the station. Ignoring this feeling wasn’t an option anymore, but coming here? I swallowed, mouth suddenly desert dry. Coming here made it real. God, was someone really watching me? Did someone want to hurt me?

I paid the cab driver and, not allowing myself to chicken out, headed inside. Two years ago, I’d ignored my instincts. Something had felt off, and I’d told myself I was being stupid.

Paranoid.

Like I’d been telling myself for the last week.

A shudder moved through me as I approached the officer standing behind a desk.

Thirty minutes later, I was sitting across from the detective who had handled my case back then and biting back angry tears. Detective Daniels’s eyes were warm brown, gentle, and he gave me another one of those sympathetic looks like he thought I was losing my mind.

Apparently, my gut feelings and two heavy-breathing calls were nothing to worry about. Yeah, okay, maybe it did sound like nothing. But it wasn’t. I knew it wasn’t. Down to my bones. But I struggled to get this across, obviously.

“What happened to you…” Detective Daniels shook his head. “Miss Rivera, you went through a hell of a lot,” he finally said. “It’s only natural that you’d be…cautious.”

“This isn’t all in my head,” I said, unable to meet his eyes, which frustrated the hell out of me and I’m sure didn’t help me plead my case. But men made me uncomfortable. I didn’t know why. There was no sinister reason, no awful event in my childhood. They had always just made me feel awkward, self-conscious. I was painfully shy at the best of times, and my social anxiety disorder made it all harder. And right then, stuttering and blushing and sweating through this interview couldn’t be helping.

No wonder he thought I was imagining things.

“Look, with nothing to go on, the best I can do is have an officer drive by your place a couple of times for the next few days.”

“Right.” I bit my lip.

He was silent for several long, uncomfortable beats. “If anything else happens, come back in.” He slid his card across the desk. “Or call me, and I’ll do what I can.”

“Right,” I said again, because what else could I say? He thought it was all in my head.

“London,” he said in a gentle voice, a knowing voice, dropping the professional cop act completely. He’d been kind back then. I’d liked him, had felt safe around him. And I knew he was looking back to that time as well, that awful time, and seeing the violent aftermath of my attack. Seeing exactly why I might be seeing monsters where there were none.

“No. I understand.”

His hand gently covered mine, startling me. My gaze shot up to his as he curled my fingers around his card. “Call me. Any time, whatever it is, and I’ll be there.”

That wasn’t normal police protocol, I knew that much. I dropped my gaze again and my belly flipped. “Thank you.” I pulled my hand from under his and rushed out of the station before I broke down, before he saw me dissolve into tears.

* * *

I laid out the roses and lilies for the arrangement I was recreating, trimming their stems before I began putting it together. I glanced down at the photo I’d been given. An older man with silver hair and kind eyes had brought it in. It was for his wife for their fortieth wedding anniversary. He wanted the arrangement to look like the bouquet she’d carried down the aisle when they’d married all those years ago. I wanted to get it right. It needed to be perfect.

This, my work, was at least something I could control.

Fear and dread tried to creep back in, but I refused to let it. After my talk with Detective Daniels the day before, I’d been upset, humiliated. But when I woke this morning, I told myself the police knew best. That maybe Detective Daniels was right. Maybe I was under more stress than I realized. But when I walked to work this morning, that crawling feeling had tingled at the back of my neck, like I was being watched, followed.

Was I really conjuring it all up in my mind?

I shoved the thought back out, I didn’t want to think about that, not then. I needed to not think about any of it for a little while. I needed to keep busy. And as always, my little shop had a steady stream of orders and I was thankful for that today more than ever.