“I’m going to go to my apartment tomorrow.”
His head had been bowed as he hooked his badge into his shirt, but his fingers stilled as he lifted his chin, both dark brows raised. “Why?”
I scooted to the end of the bed and looked down at where he sat on the floor. “I want—no, I need—to go through the stuff I brought back from . . . from Charlie’s room. I just dropped them in my living room.”
He finished hooking the badge in. “Can you wait until I can be there with you?”
I smiled a little. “I appreciate you wanting to be there, but I think . . . I need to do this alone.” In other words, I knew I was going to break down again, especially seeing all those paintings and little things I’d brought with me whenever I visited Charlie. After all the time spent crying on Reece, I really didn’t think he needed to see that again. I needed to start letting all of this go and that was something I needed to try to do on my own first. “My place is safe now.”
“It should be safe now.” Setting the shirt aside, he started messing with the clips on his belt. Getting his uniform ready was a freaking complicated process, I was learning. “You know I want you staying with me until we find this guy.”
“I know.” I folded my legs under me. “But with the security system, I’m pretty safe. That was the point of putting that in there, right? Plus, what if they don’t even find the guy?”
“You can stay here forever,” he replied.
I shot him a bland look. “Reece, I . . . don’t think I could. I mean, we just started dating and most people—”
“I don’t give a fuck what most people do. I love you. You love me, even though I haven’t heard those words yet.” He stretched his belt out on the floor while I arched a brow. “So if we want to move in together now, we move in together. What-the-fuck-ever.”
My lips twitched. “I’d like to see you explaining it like that, with so much grace, to my parents.”
Reece stood swiftly. “What do you think your parents are thinking we’re doing while you’re staying with me now?”
“They think we’re playing cards and knitting blankets.”
He chuckled as he placed his hands on either side of me and leaned over the bed. “They know we’re fucking each other’s brains out whenever we get the chance.”
“Ew.” I wrinkled my nose. “They think we’re doing pure and wholesome things.”
“Your parents?” He snorted. “They’re probably hoping we give them a grandbaby by next summer.”
“No way, no . . .” I groaned. “You’re probably right.”
Grinning, he kissed the tip of my nose and then pulled back so he could look me straight in the eye. “You planning on going over during the day?” When I nodded, he sighed. “Please tell me that if you notice anything suspicious, you’ll get your ass out of there and call me. I’ll be working, but I will drop anything.”
I smiled and then rocked forward, kissing the tip of his nose. “I’ll be fine. I just need to . . .”
“You need your privacy. I get that. I really do.”
And that . . . that was so Reece. Yeah, he could be bossy and demanding, in and out of the bedroom, but he was also considerate and compassionate. He was strong-willed, but the softer side of him dug deep into my marrow. I loved every side of Reece, no matter how incredibly annoying he could be sometimes.
I thought about what he’d said about how he dealt with the shooting—how he was still dealing. My chest ached. “Are you okay?”
“Perfect,” he mused.
“That you are, but that’s not what I meant.” I took a deep breath. “Everything with the shooting? I knew it had gotten bad, but I didn’t know how bad, and I . . . I just want you to know that you can always talk to me. Okay?”
A small smile appeared. “I know.”
“Don’t forget that,” I demanded softly.
That smile spread. “I won’t.”
Placing my hands on his biceps, I closed the tiny distance between us and kissed his parted lips. The way he sucked the air between his teeth stirred desire deep inside me. Kissing him again, I pulled back just enough so we were eye to eye once more.
I drew in a deep breath. “I love you, Reece.”
His eyes deepened to magnetic blue as he stared at me. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, didn’t move, and I wasn’t even sure if he breathed. Then he sprang into action, clasping my hips. He lifted me up and placed me on my back as he came over me, his body blocking out the entire world.
“I already knew that, babe, but nothing is as good as hearing you say that.”
I started to say it again, but his mouth claimed mine with a blazing kiss that rocked me. There was nothing angry about the way we went at each other, and we really went at each other. Neither was it a slow, seductive joining. We were frantic, but this time because there was nothing between us, no words left unspoken, no walls, and most important, no fear holding us back.
Our clothes came off in a rush, and our hands were everywhere. Reece was everywhere, and what he felt for me, which was something I could not doubt, was in every sweep of his hand and brush of his lips. He worshiped what we had together, and as minutes ticked by and with every kiss and caress, I knew I deserved this with him.
I knew he deserved this.
Reece worked his way down my body, his head between my thighs, his mouth on me, his tongue in me. God, he knew what to do. With every lick, he drew me into him. When his mouth moved to the bundle of nerves and he slid a finger inside, finding that ultrasensitive spot, the sensation was too much. I came, head thrown back and my fingers clenching the short strands of his hair. Those tiny kisses and sweet nips of his teeth eased off as my legs fell to the side, boneless. I was barely aware of him moving to the nightstand, but the rip of the foil drew my eyes open. With a heavy-lidded gaze, I watched him roll the condom on and then he was above me, his hand curving around my jaw as he guided himself into me with one quick, shattering thrust. His mouth silenced my cry, and I could taste me on him, the combination highly erotic. I curled my legs around his waist, relishing in the deep, powerful strokes.
Reece lifted his head, his lips glossy and cheeks flushed. Before he could say a word, I told him again. “I love you,” and I said it over and over, until whatever semblance of control and rhythm were lost, until I threw my arms back and planted the palms of my hands against the headboard, anchoring myself as he slammed into me, hitting every nerve and sending pleasure racing through me. I flew apart again, shattering into a million happy, messy little pieces, but this time, he was right with me, with his head kicked back and my name nothing more than a sexy, throaty growl as he spent himself.
He collapsed when he was done, his breathing erratic. “I can’t move,” he murmured, face buried in my neck.
“That’s okay.”
“I’m going to crush you.”
“That’s also okay.”
Reece chuckled. “I don’t like flat and squishy Roxy.”
I grinned. “I’m pretty flat as it is.”
“You’re fucking perfect.” He rolled off me, flat on his back. “Fuck, babe . . .”
Prying my eyes open, I turned my head toward him. One arm was tossed over his eyes and his other hand was on my thigh, as if he couldn’t stand the idea of us not touching. Maybe that was me just having an orgasm-induced romantic fantasy, but whatever.
“You know,” I said, sighing as I reached down, placing my hand over his. I got a little giddy when he immediately flipped his palm up and threaded his fingers through mine. “I would like to paint you.”
“With me knowing?” he teased.
“With you being naked,” I corrected.
He moved his arm and snapped his head toward mine. Those lips curved up at the corners. “I’m so fucking down for that.”
I left for my place about an h
our after Reece headed out to work. It was weird parking in front of my apartment and walking inside. Not because I had to hit a button on my new key fob that disarmed the alarm system and clicked it again to arm it once I was inside or because I was freaked out about being in my place after the break-in.
I wasn’t even thinking about Mr. Friendly Neighborhood Stalker.
No. It was the boxes next to my couch. It was the stack of paintings I knew were in there. It was the reminder that Charlie really was gone.
Setting my keys on the end table, I shuffled over to the boxes, feeling a burn in the back of my throat. A huge part of me wanted to turn around, run back to Reece’s place, and hide under the covers, but I needed to deal with this.
But that wasn’t trying—that wasn’t moving past this.
Running my hands down the sides of my shirt, which read I’M A SPECIAL SNOWFLAKE, I pulled out the first painting like I was reaching into a box of venomous snakes.
Of course it was a painting I’d done of Charlie and me sitting together on a bench, our backs visible and the trees full of golden and red leaves.
My face started to crumble and my hand shook, rattling the canvas. What happened was so not fair, but it had happened and there was nothing I could do to change that.
Tears still fell as I dragged the box to the couch and sat down. Each painting cataloged either an event with Charlie or where I was mentally while I painted it. It was strange, seeing all the beautiful landscapes and memories of Charlie and me, and realizing that even though I held on to a lot of bad stuff, there’d been rays of sunshine in there. Like the way I saw Charlie. After the incident, I didn’t see him in a different light. He was still the most beautiful person inside and out that I knew.
It was hard going through those paintings, even worse when I placed them in my studio and then moved on to the box, picking out the framed photos of us.
I didn’t ever want to let go of Charlie. I didn’t need to. I just had to get to a place where thinking of him made me happy.
But I needed . . . God, I needed to start letting go of this ugly ball of hate, sadness, and frustration that had festered inside of me for far too long. Instead of learning from what happened to Charlie and living my life to the fullest, I’d nurtured all those nasty feelings. It was like a rotten growth that tarnished everything it came into contact with, an infection that I had to cut out.
Placing the framed photo on the table near where my easel normally was, I glanced at the open door to the hall. Before I knew what I was doing, I’d retrieved my cell phone and then walked into my bedroom, stopping in front of my closet door.
I thought about what Reece had said all those days ago when he’d talked about how hard it was to let go of everything surrounding the shooting. I knew from what he’d said to me the night of the funeral that he was still struggling with truly letting it go, but he was trying.
I knew what I needed to do to really begin the whole process of letting it go, and it would be one of the hardest things I’d ever done.
Opening the closet door, I dropped down on my knees, placing my cell next to me, and started rooting around in the clothes that I had a habit of just tossing on the floor instead of folding neatly like Reece did. I grinned as I picked up a pair of jeans and tossed them aside, thinking that if Reece and I did make that step to live together permanently, I’d have my own personal clothing folder.
Couldn’t beat that.
It took me a few minutes to find the jeans I was looking for. I had to push all the shirts hanging to the sides to clear a path to the back of the closet to locate the pair I’d worn the night Henry had come into Mona’s. Plucking them from the floor, I wondered how in the world they’d gotten all the way to the back of the deep closet.
I sat back on my butt and dug into the pocket, my fingers easily finding the business card. I pulled it out as cool air washed over my hand. Frowning, I glanced up and eyed the closet. Till this day, I could not figure out why the closet was so drafty.
My gaze flicked to the business card. Shaking my head, I couldn’t believe he had one. Really? Like, “Hi, I’m out of prison. Here’s my card!” But it was some kind of car-detailing business card, a business, I thought, if I remembered correctly, his father ran while we were in high school.
I don’t think he really meant to hurt Charlie.
Reece’s words floated through my thoughts, and for the first time in like forever, I thought about his parole hearings, I thought about his trial and everything since that night until now. It killed me to acknowledge it, but never once did Henry make excuses for what he did. Never once did he not show remorse, and not the kind when you get caught doing something bad. I remembered him crying at the trial. Not when the guilty verdict was handed down or at sentencing, but when I took the stand and recounted the events.
Henry had cried.
And back then I had hated him so much for that. I didn’t want to see his tears, couldn’t even understand how he could cry when he was the one who hurt Charlie. But now I knew it was more than that. All this time I also blamed myself and I had cried an ocean’s worth of tears. When I thought of Henry, I always thought of my role in things.
I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment and tried to picture Charlie’s reaction to what I was thinking about doing. Would he be upset? Or would he turn to me and say finally? I let out a shaky sigh. My throat felt thick. My eyes burned when I reopened them.
Then I dialed the number on the card.
My stomach twisted until I thought I’d hurl all over the clothes as the phone rang once, twice, and then five times before voice mail picked up. I didn’t leave a message, because seriously, what would I say? I didn’t even know what I was going to say if he did answer. I started to stand up when I felt the cold air again, this time stronger and steady, as if a hard gust of wind blew out of the closet.
So freaking weird.
Placing the phone on the floor, I scooted forward on my knees, pushing the hanging clothes even further back as I scanned the closet. The air couldn’t be coming from outside, because the closet butted up to where the steps used to go upstairs. Could it be from the main door opening? Stretching, I placed my hand against the wall. The surface was cool, as expected, but the wall didn’t feel . . . solid. Not like the rest of the closet. It almost felt like fake wood, the kind cheap bookshelves were made out of and would fall apart if it got wet. Upon closer inspection, I could actually see a crack, a separation between whatever kind of wood this was and the actual wall. Almost running the length of the back wall, it was about two feet wide and five feet in height.
Which probably explained why drafts were getting through.
Pushing on the section of the wall, I gasped as it shifted, swinging open into a space behind the wall without so much as a whisper.
“Holy crap,” I murmured, thinking of the hidden doors and pathways the Silvers mentioned when I first moved in, but I hadn’t really believed them. Or at least figured they’d be closed up by this point.
Curiosity got the best of me. So did the mad need for a distraction. The wall shifted far enough that anyone could really squeeze through, just by dipping and turning sideways. I shimmied through, entering a dark and musty-smelling space that was only lit from the light spilling in through my bedroom.
I was almost able to straighten to my full height. Reece would barely be able to stand bent over in here. There was so much dust in the air as I glanced up, I didn’t want to breathe too deeply. I think I really was under the stairs.
Oh my God.
Totally reminded me of that way old movie—The People Under the Stairs. I shivered. Creepy. Slowly moving to the left, I realized there was a flight of stairs inside the cramped space. Placing my hands on either side of the wall, I carefully climbed the steps. They turned out to be steep and narrow, and I couldn’t imagine anyone climbing up and down them without breaking the
ir neck unless they seriously knew the layout.
At the top of the stairs was another hidden door like the one in my closet—same dimensions—and when I pressed on the panel it popped open without a sound.
I was in another closet, but it wasn’t a normal closet by any means. There were no clothes, no hangers, and there were also no doors. There was nothing stopping me from seeing the room. In a dumbfounded trance, I moved forward.
Daylight spilled in through the large bay window and tiny flecks of dust danced in the beams. The room should be warm, but my skin was chilled to the bone as I stepped out of the closet. My eyes squinted behind my glasses.
Oh my God.
My stomach dropped as my gaze crawled over the walls. Not a square inch of paint was exposed. Photos were hung everywhere, some taped, some tacked up.
I couldn’t be seeing this.
Pictures of women I’d never seen before were all over the walls—walking outside of businesses, outside of homes, and other normal, everyday things, but some—oh my God—some were close-ups of wrists and ankles bound, but that . . .
My gaze moved over the left wall and then darted back. I turned to it, clamping a hand over my mouth.
There were pictures of me.
Photos of me inside my apartment—me sleeping on the couch and in my bed. There were photos of me walking through my bedroom, wearing nothing but a towel, and then photos where I was wearing nothing at all. Photos of me naked, from almost every possible conceivable angle known to freaking man. There were so many of them, and I wasn’t alone in some of them.
There were pictures of Reece and me.
Cuddled up on the couch together. Him sitting on my bed and me standing in front of him. Photos of us kissing. And photos . . . photos of us making love.
Horror dug razor-sharp claws in me as I stared at the photos. I couldn’t get enough air in my lungs. In the back of my head, I knew I needed to get out of here. I needed to call the police, but when I took a step back it was like I was walking in quicksand.