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How? How does Lincoln have the live feed from the cameras?
And why?
Why is he watching me?
There has to be a reasonable explanation for this, right? I know him. He wouldn’t do… whatever this is to me. Right?
He knows so much about my past but the one thing I never told him about was the cameras or the safe room so how did he even know they were there?
And how long has he been watching me? Since we started hanging out? Since we first met? Before that even?
The implications crash down on me and I struggle to breathe as I move to the counter and plant my hand on it. After the past three weeks and last night, I don’t want to jump to conclusions but nothing is adding up and I feel more in danger than I did in the store when I was receiving those messages. Could that have been Lincoln, too? Is this all just a big game to him?
My breathing becomes labored and tears sting my eyes as I think over the past few weeks. Is he really behind all of this? It makes perfect sense and absolutely no sense at the same time but with everything I know and all my training, I have to assume these things aren’t a coincidence. My chest aches and I gulp in a breath, willing myself not to cry as tears sting my eyes. This can’t be happening. Not when I thought I had finally found my happiness.
Was this a joke?
Does he even love me?
Glancing down at the phone, I back out of the camera and notice a folder labeled Tate. I shouldn’t click it because it will only bring me heartbreak but I have to know. I click on it, holding my breath as multiple files pop up. The first one I click on has general information on me – name, date of birth, height, weight, hair color – that sort of thing and a quiet sob bubbles out of me.
“No,” I whisper, shaking my head. “No, no, no.”
The next file I click on is all about Theo and anger floods my system. It’s one thing to come after me but it’s another thing all together to go after my brother - one that I will not stand for. The next file is all about Mom but there isn’t much information there and I sigh as I click the next one and suck in a breath. It’s a photo of Theo and I sprinkling Mom’s ashes on the beach and it tells me everything I need to know. This has been a set-up from the beginning.
Dropping the phone on the counter, I close my eyes and let the pain swallow me up for a moment as my heart shatters in my chest. All the dreams I built up in my head vanish like footprints in the sand and just when I think I’m going to break under the burden of my heartache, I stop. I let the anger replace the pain, shutting down anything that doesn’t serve a purpose in this moment. Lincoln, if that even is his real name, made one grave mistake when going after me and that was choosing me in the first place.
The love I felt for him turns to hate and I finally understand that old saying about there being a thin line between the two as I reach into the cubby next to the sink and pull out the 1911. The water turns off in the bathroom. I plant my feet and aim the gun at the bedroom doorway, gripping tightly to my anger. All this time, all the fear I felt whenever the phone rang, it’s all been him and it pisses me off as much as it worries me. What are his intentions?
Beware the man you think you know.
The saying runs through my head again, like it has so many times since that first call came in, but this time, I understand it perfectly. The seconds tick by in agonizing slowness and my mind races through scenarios. Will he freeze when he sees the gun? Will he charge me? The thought of shooting him, of watching a bullet rip through his body makes my stomach roll and a tear slips down my cheek before I wipe it away, baring my teeth. Why the fuck do I care if I shoot him? He’s done nothing but lie and manipulate me since before we even met. He’s playing games with my heart and he’s going to lose.
“Hey, baby, do you know where…” His words trail off when he glances up and notices the gun in my hand, aimed at his chest. “Tate, what are you doing?”
“Was it fun?” I hiss, my hand shaking. He frowns and takes a few steps toward me. “Don’t move.”
He freezes, holding his hands up. “Was what fun, baby?”
“This.” I motion between the two of us. “Was this fun for you? Did you just hang out with the guys and have a good laugh over what an idiot I am?”
“Sweetheart,” he whispers, stepping forward again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I grab the phone off the counter and back away from him before tossing it in his direction. “I’m sure this will clear it up.”
He catches it effortlessly and glances down at the screen, his eyes going wide and the color draining from his face.
“Baby, no,” he whispers in horror. “You don’t understand. You have to let me explain.”
He takes another step toward me and I cock the gun.
“I don’t have to do anything. Everything I just saw makes things perfectly clear for me.”
“It’s not what you think,” he pleads and it all just sounds like excuses to me. I roll my eyes.
“Don’t give me that tired line. You’ve been caught red-handed, Lincoln. The game’s up and I’m not your pawn anymore.”
He takes a few steps and I arch a brow in warning.
