CHAPTER SIX || ELI #2
“Absolutely not,” Nicolas said flatly, his lips pursed into an even, disapproving line. “You can barely keep your eyes open. It’s a small wonder you haven’t been involved in an accident before now. I will drive you home.”
“You could be a crazy person. Or a murderer,” I protested. “I’m not giving you my car keys.”
“If you were in any danger from me, I wouldn’t be asking you so nicely,” Nicolas said, seeming more bemused by my words than he had any right to be. “I would just take what I wanted. As you’ve already done.”
His gaze drifted to my lips, which felt swollen and thoroughly kissed. His meaning was impossible to mistake.
Naturally, my traitorous body chose that moment to yawn.
Exhaustion swept through me, making reality seem oddly dreamlike and distant—even though I should have been hyperaware of him, this strange man I had just made out with who was now insisting I hand him my keys and get into a car with him.
“I’ll call a taxi,” I said, bracing my hand against the hood of the car so I wouldn’t sway on my feet. I avoided his gaze. “Or use a rideshare app.”
“You’d rather get into a car with a stranger?” Nicolas demanded. “Explain to me how that makes sense.”
“You are a stranger.”
He snorted. “Yes, but I have a vested interest in your welfare.” Then he paused, seeming almost startled at his own words again. He frowned, speaking as if to himself, and added, “Hmmm. That’s true, isn’t it? How very odd.”
“Yeah,” I said with a sharp nod, unable to peel my gaze away from his. “It’s pretty weird.”
“I have no wish to harm you, Dr. De La Cruz.” His pale blue eyes locked with mine, and I knew he meant every word. “I wish only to see you to safety.”
“Holy shit, I can’t believe I’m doing this,” I muttered. But I couldn’t muster the appropriate sense of danger. It made zero sense, but I felt as though I knew him—as though I had been waiting for him my entire life.
I held my keys out and dropped them into his palm.
“Excellent choice, Doctor,” he said, nodding approvingly. “I will see you home safely. You have my word.”
All the tension drained out of me, and I couldn’t help but instinctively believe him. It wasn’t rational, but reality had already taken a hard left turn. The only thing to do now was to go with it.
I made my way to the passenger-side door and pulled it open. Then I got into the car and fastened my seat belt. Nicolas did the same, but with a dark chuckle that made zero sense. He put the car in motion and began driving.
I stared at him, suddenly feeling more alert. “You’ve been following me.”
Nicolas frowned, glancing over at me quickly, as if to assess my reaction. “Yes.”
I let out a long breath, feeling—insanely—more curious than alarmed. “Why?”
“You knew my real name,” he said, keeping his attention focused on navigating us out of the parking garage. “You recognized me, but I didn’t recognize you. I thought you were dangerous.”
“That can’t be true, can it?” I demanded, shaking my head. “Stuff like this doesn’t happen.”
He snorted. “And yet, here we are.”
“I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around this.”
“You and me both. I’m assuming you’re some kind of psychic.” He paused, frowning at me. “You’ve been dreaming of me for years.”
Alarm flooded through me. How could he possibly know that?
Unless…
“It was you. You’re the one who broke into my house and took my journal.”
He glanced over at me again. “Yes.”
“You scared the shit out of my sister.”
But I couldn’t help the relief that flooded through me. Because if Nicolas had broken in, that meant Eric hadn’t. His text messages were just his attempts to bait me into communicating with him again. He hadn’t escalated.
“But why would that calm you?” he demanded, sounding puzzled. He shot me a sharp, disbelieving look. “I would have expected the opposite to be true.”
I stared back at him, trying to make my tired brain grapple with the strangeness of this conversation. “If you thought it would freak me out, why would you tell me in the first place?”
“Don’t answer a question with a question,” he said immediately. Then, after glancing over at me again, something in his expression softened and he sighed. Grudgingly, he added, “I don’t lie.”
“Ever?”
“Correct. I detest liars.” He paused. “You can expect nothing but honesty from me.”
We both fell silent for several long minutes as the blocks passed us by.
I yawned again, fighting to stay aware and vigilant. The problem was, my body kept trying to relax—as though I was safe in my bed and not sitting next to someone who had been following me and had just admitted to breaking into my home.
After the silence had dragged on far too long, Nicolas said, “Why would knowing I was the one who broke into your home be comforting?”
I frowned at his certainty. How on earth could he even know that? “Who says it is?”
“Eli,” he said reproachfully. It caused a jolt to shoot through me as I realized I liked the sound of my name on his lips. “Come now. Please tell me.”
I hesitated. “It’s complicated.”
“I’m sure I can keep up.”
“I thought you were someone else.”
“Who?”
“That’s not—I don’t want to talk about it.”
He sighed, his brows pulling together. “That’s very frustrating.”
I glared at him. “Oh, is it? You can’t just drop into my life and expect total honesty from me!”
“Actually, I can,” Nicolas said.
I opened my mouth to protest some more, but instead I yawned again, my eyes drifting shut. The passenger seat felt far too comfortable, and the interior was warm and smelled like cinnamon and cocoa.
I blinked, jolting awake.
“You feel safe with me,” he breathed, staring at me, stunned. I realized we were stopped on the street in front of my house. I hadn’t given him any directions—but of course, he knew precisely where I lived. Because he had already broken into my home.
“No,” I said immediately. “I do not feel safe with you.”
“I don’t like lies,” he warned.
“That’s what you say now,” I replied, trying to muster an appropriate amount of outrage to keep him at bay. “But then I’ll find out you have this whole other persona.”
He snorted, that bemused smile returning, as if I’d said something funny.
“Are you married?” I demanded.
His eyes widened at my question. “No.”
Hmmm. That seemed honest enough. “Are you a junkie?”
His brows drew together and he frowned. “Also no. What—do you mind explaining why, exactly, you’re asking me these things?”
I ignored his question. “Are you a serial killer?”
He snorted again, his eyes gleaming strangely as they locked with mine. “Yes. I’m afraid you’ve caught me.”
I stared at him, trying to figure out if he was joking or not.
If he was a serial killer, he’d never admit it, right?
The first rule of murder club was probably that you don’t tell people about murder club.
And he seemed to care an awful lot about my feeling safe in his presence—he wouldn’t tell me something like that unless it was a joke.
I decided he had to be kidding.
“That’s not funny,” I said, glaring.
“No, I don’t suppose it is,” he agreed solemnly. Then he paused and added, “Who are you, Doctor De La Cruz? Please, just tell me.”
The intensity of his question left me feeling shaken. “I—I’m a doctor.”
“No,” he said firmly, shaking his head. He sounded troubled. “You’re so much more than that. And I won’t stop until I’ve figured you out.”
“Good luck with that,” I said, staring at him.
I wasn’t sure if I should be feeling angry or frightened or intrigued. Instead, I just felt safe. Like I belonged nowhere else but right here, beside him.
What the hell was happening to me?