Rocks bit my cheek, my palms, my thighs. I’d gone from being ravished against a car to crushed on the ground by hard, pissed off male. The full weight of his body spread across mine, stifling my ability to breathe. Ping, ping, ping. Three more shots embedded themselves in the car just above my head.
Franklin rolled off, cocked his arms, and shot four rounds. He tossed his keys at me. “Run upstairs. Lock yourself in and don’t fucking open that door for anyone. Got it? Nobody but me.”
Another ping. I wrapped my arms around my head, smashing my face harder into the gravel.
“Fuck.” He fired again. “Move your ass, baby. Go. Go!”
I shot a glance at the stairs and cringed. It seemed an impossible distance to travel. I turned my nose away from the scent of dirt and oil.
Franklin pulled a second pistol from under his shirt. “Go. Now!” he ordered.
Oh shit. I pushed to my feet, then scrambled forward. Franklin ran alongside, shielding me until I reached the first step. My legs became lead weights and my trek to the top passed in excruciating slow motion. More gunshots ripped through the early evening air. The blood whooshing through my ears came in painful waves, drowning out the street noise. My fingers trembled. I dropped the keys, picked them up. Oh God, oh God, oh God. I was dead. I just knew it. Any second, a bullet would turn my brains into splatter art on Franklin’s door.
Somehow I managed to insert the key, turn the knob, and drag my trembling ass inside. I slammed it behind me, turned the lock, then snapped the deadbolt. My knees hit the hardwood with a thud.
While Franklin dodged bullets, I cowered inside—the helpless victim. Sirens wailed in the distance. An engine roared. Tires squealed. I stayed on the floor. Unable to move. More gunshots popped and a scream rose from deep in my belly.
I needed to move. First, I needed to breathe. Inhale through the nose, exhale through the mouth. Inhale, exhale, in, out, in, out. I regained control of my lungs and crawled like a baby toward the bathroom. Only when I reached the hall did I find the strength to stand. Franklin’s bedroom door hung ajar. A blue glow illuminated the dark space and I walked in, searching for a place to hide. I found the light switch and immediately wished I hadn’t.
Although the room contained a bed, it wasn’t a bedroom—not by a long shot. The closet doors were open, revealing a floor-to-ceiling safe sporting a keypad as well as a large dial. The opposite wall boasted a long metal desk decorated with computers. Above that hung multiple computer screens, all powered on, three of which appeared to have live feeds of every square inch of my home. That alone should have thrown me into a nuclear tizzy. Not me. Nope. What freaked me out? The wall, illuminated in warm lighting, covered floor-to-ceiling with photographs of me. From my grade school years on, as far as I could tell. Hundreds of images, black-and-whites, colored. It was impossible to distinguish, because in that moment, I saw nothing but red.
The small bed, situated in the center of the room, faced the collage. I plopped my ass down and got a whiff of Franklin. Bile rose in my throat. I pushed to my feet and narrowly made it to the toilet before purging the contents of my stomach.
God, I needed my dad. He’d know what to do. I rinsed my mouth in the sink. When I looked in the mirror at my dirty reflection and frazzled hair, my heart dropped to my toes. My father would be so disappointed in me. And Franklin? He’d be dead. Not a doubt in my mind, Daddy would kill him.
I washed my mouth one more time, retrieved my phone from my pocket, and dialed the special number I’d decided to memorize days ago. Sirens blared outside. I slunk to the living room and peeked out the window. Police cars packed the lot and surrounding streets. The phone rang and rang. No answer. My stomach twisted in volatile spasms. My flesh ached. My soul screamed. Why did this hurt so damn bad? I couldn’t be in his space anymore, whoever he was—the enigma who’d ruined me for any other man. I unlocked the door, bolted down the stairs, and ran to the nearest person in uniform.
Franklin called my name from behind. “Tate!” He seemed a million miles away. “Baby. You okay?” I turned on instinct, drawn to his voice like a moth to a flame. Franklin stopped dead in his tracks when our eyes met.
Tears fell faster than I could wipe them away. I twisted toward the officer. “I need Detective Waters. I need him right now.”
“Baby, don’t.” Franklin warned, his voice gruff and commanding.
I fisted the officer’s sleeves and pulled at him. “Please. Now. I need Detective Waters. Tell him it’s Tatum Reed. It’s urgent.”
I looked over my shoulder. Franklin stormed toward me.
Pushing the officer away, I turned to confront the enemy. “No!” I shouted. “No. Don’t come near me. Don’t call me baby. I saw it. I saw that room! Who the hell are you? Why me? Why? You son of a bitch.”
I ran to the man who’d gutted me and started throwing punches. “How could you?” I slapped his face, scratched, spit, kicked his shins.
Franklin remained stone still, absorbing every strike of my bat-shit crazy assault, he stood his ground, a soulless statue. His lack of emotion only fueled my fire. I drew blood with my nails. He didn’t flinch. I punched, aiming for his nose. He didn’t block, grunt, or curse, only blinked, never tearing his gaze from me. “You liar,” I screamed. “You sick bastard.”
Two men grabbed my arms and tore me away, kicking and screaming. They stuffed me into the back of a patrol car and shut me in. Franklin didn’t budge, only stood, stretching his fingers then clenching them tight, stretching, clenching, over and over. The raw, tormented expression he wore almost had me fooled. Then he blinked and it was gone, replaced with stone cold fury.
I hated him so, so much.
* * * *
The backseat of the patrol car, although cramped and reeking of oil and musty carpet, became my new safe haven. Leland sat next to me and held my hand until the trembling dulled to a faint shake.
Around the same time the moon disappeared behind daunting clouds, Franklin stopped staring at me and followed a man in a dark suit up to his apartment. Most of the responding officers had left. In the stinky vehicle, I spilled my guts to Detective Waters. Told him everything I hadn’t before about Franklin. He listened. Jotted notes on his yellow pad. Asked far too few questions, in my opinion.
“Do you think he was behind any of the murders?” I asked. Leland’s chuckle ignited a rage in my gut. Why did he find it humorous? It seemed a logical question. Franklin had been stalking me. Maybe he was jealous of my relationship with Jacob. What about hoodie guy? How did he fit into the twisted puzzle?
The detective shook his head and huffed. “I’m not going to answer that. I will be having a conversation with Mr. Reed shortly.” He released my hand and rested his palm on my knee. “Is this your way of staying out of trouble?” He faked a smile that only angered me more. “Is there someone you can stay with tonight?”
I looked toward the bar. Lizzie had poked her head out the back door at least a hundred times. The first few peeks, she’d looked worried. After that, irate. At one point, she had confronted a poor young cop. By the time she’d finished with him and had stormed back inside, he’d appeared completely exasperated. “I can ask my friend.” I pointed her out.
Another young officer tapped on the window. “Waters. You’re gonna want to hear this.”
“What now?” Leland grunted, exited the car, and shut the door behind him.
I buried my face in my hands. Where was Franklin? What would they do to him? What line of bullshit did he feed everyone? Why did I care? He’d lied to me from day one. None of it made any sense.
I surely needed to sell my condo and move far away. Florida might be nice. I could hang with Mom and Grandpa in Panama City, play some old-folks games. People didn’t shoot each other during bingo, did they?
Leland opened the door and bent to speak to me. “Miss Wood. Officer Johnson will drive you to the station. I’ll meet you there.”
Uh, oh. I was Miss Wood again. “What’s going on?”
“We’ll discuss it in my office.” He slammed the door, shouted a few profanities, and stomped across the parking lot. I watched him trot up the stairs. Two men in dark suits stopped him halfway up. Franklin surfaced in the doorway, holding a bloodied towel to his nose.
That stupid, silly organ in my chest pitter-pattered at the sight of him. Didn’t my heart know better? Bad heart. Very bad!
The engine roared, the vehicle rolled, taking me away from the man I hated with all my might, or was at least trying to. I couldn’t tear my gaze from him. He gestured to the men in suits and Detective Waters continued up the stairs.
Shouldn’t he be in handcuffs? He’d shot at people. He had a creepy Wall-O-Tatum in his bedroom along with super-spy computers and an industrial vault.
Fire raged in my gut. Franklin should be on his way to the station, not me.
Why did he appear to be in command of the whole scene?
* * * *
Three hours. Three hours I waited for the detective to return to the station. They could’ve at least put me in a comfortable room. Not a single one of the jackasses in blue would tell me why I was there.
By the time Leland, I mean, Detective Waters, showed up, I was wound tighter than a caged lioness. “What the hell is going on?” I screamed before he shut the door behind him. Exhaustion had settled in, right next to pissed off and devastated. I couldn’t sit. The room was so small, pacing had made me dizzy, but I did it anyway. It took my mind off the garbled noises in my brain and the dull ache that emerged from my heart, seeping into my weary muscles.
The detective plopped his rear into a chair and raked his nails through the stubble on his cheeks. The circles under his eyes were darker than I’d ever seen. “Tell me again where you were this morning before you arrived at the office.”
I stood in front of the desk and folded my arms. “I was with Franklin. I told you that already. You can ask him.”
Leland stared at me unblinking.
My blood turned to ice. “I’m confused. Why are you asking me these questions again? Didn’t you bring me here to talk about what happened this afternoon? The shooting? The shit in Franklin’s apartment? What does this morning have to do with it?”
“We viewed the building’s security footage at Cruse Investigations. You entered at six-forty-five AM. The video feed went haywire. Wallace Cruse was found dead at approximately seven-thirty.”
“No. No, no, no.” I shook my head and waved a finger at him. “I was home. In my apartment. With Franklin Reed. Check the security cameras in my building.”
“We found blond hair entangled in Wallace’s fingers. The color matches yours. Will you agree to a DNA test?”
I nodded yes. I would do anything to put a stop to the absurdity of the situation.
“Good. Can you explain the emails?” Leaning back in his chair, he clasped his hands behind his head.
“What emails?” I fought hard not to scream.
“The emails you sent to Mr. Cruse.” His cheeks reddened. “The sexually explicit ones.”
This had to be a joke. Except the stone cold expression on his face assured me it was not. “I think I’m gonna be sick.” I doubled over. Detective Waters jumped from the table and scooted the trash can to my feet.
“Were you and Mr. Cruse having an affair?” he asked.
I snapped.
“Are you friggin’ crazy? Has everyone gone out of their minds? I hated him. That man made my skin crawl. He was a greedy, narcissistic, immoral fucktard who turned my father’s business into a sleaze-fest for shitheads who couldn’t keep their dicks or pussies where they belonged. I hated him. Do you hear me? Hated him.”
He hit me with a challenging glare. “Enough to kill him?”
Oh, why couldn’t I keep my mouth shut? I decided it best to stop talking. I plopped my rear onto the hard metal chair, crossed my arms, and glared my anger and frustration, heartbreak and fear at Detective Waters. I shot it right smack between his eyes.
His brows crinkled, eyes saddened. He pushed from the table, walked to the door, and poked his head out. I couldn’t hear what he said to the man standing outside. Before leaving, he turned back to me. “For the record, I believe you. We’ve got a long night ahead of us, but we’ll get to the bottom of this.”
Officer Johnson caught the door before it closed. “Miss Reed. I’m taking you down the hall where you’ll be more comfortable.”
I pressed my lips together. A multitude of colorful words bubbled on the tip of my tongue. Words not appropriate for a lady to speak. I would remain silent. I would.
I followed the officer down a long corridor to another tiny room with a small couch. Thank God. I ached from scalp to toes. My hand, swollen from the right hook to Franklin’s nose, throbbed a relentless beat. I hoped his face hurt and my fingernails had dug deep enough to leave scars.
The couch offered no give but was a hell of a lot more comfortable than the cold metal chairs. “Would you like some coffee?” The lanky officer asked.
I pursed my lips together and shook my head no.
“Fine then. I’ll check in on you soon.” He pulled the door shut. Then locked it.
Was it legal to lock me in? I didn’t give a shit anymore. I was relieved to be alone, somewhere safe. No dead bodies, no rose-bearing stalkers, no bullets flying at me. No Franklin. A violent tremor rattled my bones. No Franklin. Why did that terrify me?
Leland would get his facts straightened out. He didn’t believe I killed Wallace. I relaxed, knowing he was fighting in my corner, and lay back against the hard cushion. Sexually explicit emails? It was laughable.
The shit I know would blow your mind.
I'm going to burn in hell for this.
Franklin’s words spun in my head, round and round, taunting, teasing.
So fucking long. You’re finally mine. Jesus, Tate. So goddamn many years. You’re mine, finally mine.
What did that mean? How long had he been watching me?
I’ve loved you for so long.
The memories sliced me into a thousand pieces.