Twenty
Than
This had been a bad idea. I couldn’t concentrate. Getting things done when I kept finding reasons to go to the front desk, just to check on Montana, was an issue. But every damn time I heard the front door open, I’d jump up and go see who it was and to make sure she was being left alone. After the third time I’d gone out there, only to find it was Ransom—again—he’d rolled his eyes at me. Jackass.
By eleven forty-five, I’d managed to fill an order, call back a vendor who had shorted us, and look through the mail that Ransom had piled up on my desk. Lunch wasn’t being delivered for another thirty minutes, and I decided this was a good time to give Montana that tour. She had to be tired of schoolwork by now anyway and in need of a break.
Closing my office door, I headed back to the front. Montana was scrunching her nose and scowling at the screen. The corners of my mouth tugged up as I made my way over to the counter. She hadn’t looked up and noticed me yet, and I was enjoying watching her.
I shouldn’t be, but I had eyes. There was no other choice.
When she finally looked up from the screen and saw me, the immediate softening in her expression sent a wave of pleasure through me.
That’s bad, Than. Real bad. You can’t react like this to her.
“How do you look in a hard hat?” I asked her.
She did the scrunchy-nose thing again, which only made me smile harder.
“Uh, I honestly don’t know,” she replied.
I shrugged. “Well, don’t worry if you can’t pull it off. Not everyone can make a hard hat sexy.”
She was grinning now. “Is that so?”
“Absolutely. You’ll see more than a few ugly fuckers in hard hats on the tour. You ready?”
Her eyes widened with excitement, and she nodded, then stood up. “Yes.” The relief in her tone at getting away from the screen was obvious.
“You got something to tie your hair back?” I asked.
“In the truck. I left my purse in there accidentally and didn’t realize it until later.”
I nodded toward the door. “I’ll unlock it, and you can go grab it on our way over to the distillery.”
She looked back at her things. “Is it okay if I leave this all here?”
“Yep. No one will touch it,” I assured her.
Beaming, she hurried around the counter, and I was unable to take my eyes off her. It was getting harder to keep my distance from her with every passing day.
“What all are we going to see?” she asked as I opened the door and held it for her.
“We’ve got a grain delivery from a local farmer about to happen, so we can start there and then move to the mash cookers and watch that from a distance. Then we will see the fermentation process and distillation,” I explained. “There are some loud areas, so I can give you earplugs if you’d like.”
I pulled the truck key from my pocket and unlocked the doors with a click. “Go grab your hair tie, and then I’ll get you suited up.”
She jogged out toward the truck, and I enjoyed the view. I should probably stop if I didn’t want to tour the distillery with a hard-on. Jerking my eyes off her, I stared at the building and tried to put her back in that box I’d kept her in. The no-touch, off-limits one that she’d managed to start easing out of.
Linc had set the ground rules, but if this was going to be for three months—and be unlike what I’d thought in the beginning, when I was sure I’d find shit out on her—then I needed him to lift the ban. Because we were on our sixth day of this, and I was teetering on the edge of doing something stupid.
I heard the familiar sounds of the back door rolling open on the distillery and the shouts from the workers who would handle the grain delivery. The truck must be pulling up. I turned to look and see what was taking Montana so long. She stood with the door open, but wasn’t moving. I squinted against the sun and shaded my eyes to see if I could tell what she was doing, but all I could see was her staring down at something.
“Grain is here, Six!” I called out. When she didn’t lift her head and acknowledge me, I tried calling her name. “Montana!” Still, I got no response.
What the hell was she doing?
I began walking her way, and the closer I got, the more concerned I became. She was just standing there like she was in some kind of trance. She’d gone to get a hair tie. What the hell could have happened to cause her to freeze and zone out?
“You good?” I asked as I neared her, but nothing. No movement.
Closing the distance with longer strides, I made it to her and touched her shoulder to get her attention.
She was trembling. Was there a snake, and I didn’t see it? I checked at her feet, but saw nothing.
“What is wrong with you?” I asked, my frustration growing, along with my worry. Keeping my hand on her, I squeezed her shoulder gently. “You gotta snap out of this, Six. You’re starting to scare me. Tell me what’s wrong.”
She finally lifted her head, and I could see what she was holding once her long, dark tresses weren’t hiding it. There was some kind of folded blue paper in her hand. Was that a heart? Had something of her mother’s been in her purse and she’d forgotten about it? I knew losing someone could cause delayed trauma.
“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…”
She’d come here because she’d been scared. The guilt that came with that realization wasn’t helping my need for destruction.
“Anyway, ninth was in my locker again. Tenth was on one of the boxes of things I moved out of the house the day it was cleared out completely. The eleventh…” She hesitated. Although the letter had already told me where the eleventh one had been, I wanted to hear her tell me. “It was on the coffee table beside the sofa I had been sleeping on after selling the house. A friend of Momma’s let me stay there, but he…he got inside. He left a note. I…it wasn’t safe for her or me.”
I prepared myself for what I was about to ask because when I went to Linc, I needed all the facts. Shit he’d not cared to find out and ask because she was just a problem in his estimation. Her life was of no consequence to him. But he’d left me with her, and I’d started to fucking care about her life.
“Is this why you called Baskin?” I asked.
She blinked, and her eyes glistened with unshed tears. I was ready to put my fist through the windshield of my truck.
“Yes.”
Fucking hell. She’d been desperate all right. But not for the reasons we’d assumed. She had been running away from a stalker. And she’d called the only person she knew to call. Someone who didn’t live in Monroe.
“And this is the twelfth letter?”
She nodded. “Yes. He…he found me. I’ll have to go somewhere. Move again. I just don’t know where.” Hearing the franticness in her words felt like someone was shoving spikes into my chest.
“You’re not going anywhere. This fucker”—I held up the note—“has messed with the wrong man.”
I didn’t believe he’d gotten in my truck. But he’d stuck the damn note in something of hers. She’d only been at school one day, but that was the only time I could think that he would have had the chance to get close to her.
I stuck the letter in my back pocket and gently took her wrist to pull her to me, then closed the truck door. When she was inches from my chest, I wrapped both arms around her. She was stiff and unsure. I’d never embraced her before.
“I’ll handle this. You’re safe with me. The cabin is safe. I swear,” I reassured her.
She laid her cheek against my chest, but said nothing. I knew she didn’t believe me, and I couldn’t blame her really. I’d done nothing to earn her trust. But I was about to start.