Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 90085 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90085 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
“Hey,” I said softer this time and moved her hair back off her shoulder, letting the silky strands run over my hand. Probably shouldn’t have touched it. Now I wanted to do it some more. “Talk to me,” I urged.
She said something so quietly that I couldn’t make it out, so I leaned closer.
“Repeat that.”
Her body shuddered as she drew in a breath. This was a bad reaction to finding something of her mother’s. Maybe she needed to see a therapist. I hadn’t known she was dealing so poorly with it.
“He found me.”
The words were barely audible, but I caught them this time.
He? This wasn’t about her mom. Who the fuck was he? My body went rigid as my concern began to morph into something else. A HE was making her act like this? Had she been in love with that dipshit she’d broken up with over text and found some letter from him in her purse? I realized I’d have preferred she be messed up over her mother’s death.
“He who, Montana?” I demanded.
She flinched, and I realized my voice had been a little harsh.
“I-I-can’t…don’t…” She shook her head as she stuttered over the words.
I was going to have to kill someone. This was not regular girl dealing with breakup drama shit. Something had fucked with her. That, or I’d missed her mental imbalance, which could be very likely since I’d struggled to keep my eyes off her face and body.
Moving quickly, I reached around her and snatched the damn folded blue thing from her hands. She gasped and spun around to face me as I started opening the thing. As I opened each perfectly pressed corner, I realized there was a letter inside. I took another step back, expecting her to try and grab it, but she didn’t move. Not wasting time by checking out her expression in case she went psycho on me and lunged for the note, I began to read it.
Tsk, tsk. Did you run from me? Having had time to think about it, maybe leaving my last note on the table beside where you slept was too much. I enjoyed watching you sleep, but you’ve gone and made it difficult for me to get close to you. I miss you. I miss watching you. I thought my notes would ease you into being curious about me, wanting to know me, but it seems it’s done the opposite. I’ll need to rectify that mistake. Like I told you before, you don’t need to fear me. I’ll do anything to keep you safe.
Than Carver, however, needs to keep his hands off what is mine. And you, Montana, are mine.
“Who wrote this, and where did you get it?” I demanded, looking up from the paper.
She was pale. So fucking pale.
“I don’t know,” she said in a raspy voice. “I don’t know,” she repeated, and I saw her tremble again.
I reined in my anger the best I could, but the burn in my chest was turning into a blaze. I needed some kind of answer. Something more than I don’t know. This wasn’t the first letter. The writer had made it sound like there had been many. And he’d watched her sleep? Left a note beside her? Fucking psycho.
The terror in her gaze wasn’t helping me calm down.
“Where did you get this?” I asked her.
She pointed at the seat of my truck.
“This was in my truck?” I had to be misunderstanding her. My truck had been locked.
She nodded her head and crossed her arms tightly around her chest.
“My doors were locked. This truck has an alarm system on it. There is no way this was in my truck. Where did you leave your purse? Or your book bag? Maybe it fell out from either of those.”
She shook her head. “It didn’t. My things were never in the seat. They were all in the floorboard, and this”—she paused and took a deep breath—“this was in the seat.”
There was no way. I’d just check the security cameras and show her that no one had come near my truck. She was just shaken up. The fucker had apparently gotten into the house she’d been staying at in Monroe. That would shake anyone up.
“This letter mentions other letters,” I told her.
She closed her eyes and nodded. “Twelve.”
Twelve? Fuck.
“Where did you find the other letters?” I felt bad about grilling her with questions, but I needed answers so I knew where to track the son of a bitch who had been leaving these. The fact that he knew my name infuriated me.
“The first one was on the doorstep of my house the day after Momma died,” she said quietly, as if she was afraid he was near and could hear her. “The second was attached to flowers he sent to her funeral. The third was in my locker the day I returned to school. The fourth in my mailbox…” She paused and licked her lips. “The fifth was on the desk where I always sat in Chemistry. The sixth was on the front door. Taped. The seventh was there too. The eighth was in a bag of groceries I picked up after school.” She shook her head. “I was with that bag the entire time. I can’t figure out how…”