16. Anna
ANNA
How could you let that happen?
Why would you let that happen?
Have you officially lost your mind?
Those same three questions have been running through my head since leaving the warehouse, and they’ve chased me to my apartment, into my bed, and into the following morning.
Seriously, how messed up in the head do you have to be to fuck your stalker?
I’d like to blame it all on him since he’s the one initiating things, but I got a rude awakening after dreaming about him last night.
Because I was determined to prove that these were isolated incidents, that he didn’t have any real effect on me.
I began touching myself, certain Sebastian would invade my thoughts as always and ruin any chance I had at an orgasm, but he never appeared.
Only one set of eyes peered back at me in my fantasy, and they didn’t belong to my ex.
It was also the first time I climaxed on my own in so many months. I didn’t even need any toys to help me get there. The memory of his head buried between my legs last night was enough that all I had to use was a pillow.
It should have been a relief that masturbation hadn’t been ruined for good, but the fact that it still didn’t feel like enough has me more than a little antsy. That pillow was essentially the store-brand version of what he could offer—a cheap imitation that barely satiated the craving.
Fuck my life.
“You’ve got a package,” Darcy sing-songs when I enter the kitchen at eight o’clock. It’s sitting on the table, and the shape of the box makes it obvious that this isn’t my usual book purchase.
I try not to act weird, but it suddenly feels like there’s a bomb in the room.
“I can open it for you,” she offers, holding up the scissors already in her hand as she slices the seal on her own package.
“No.” Again, I attempt to be casual, but it comes out too quickly and a little too loudly.
Darcy shoots me a look, though she’s not the suspicious type. She eyes my delivery more closely, like she can see through the packaging and box.
“Is it a dildo?” she whispers, though I have no idea why.
I grab the box and take it to my room before her curiosity wins out and she decides to open it anyway.
If this had arrived twelve hours ago, I wouldn’t have hesitated opening it, but I find myself in a mental tug of war now staring at the box.
I know now for a fact that Officer Holt is tracking me, and if my stalker is right, someone else has me in their crosshairs.
If he knows as much about this person as he’s let on, if he can stop them from taking any real actions against me, could I risk giving up this opportunity?
Even with my bedroom door closed, I can still hear a soft knock coming from down the hall. I assume it’s Amelia or another one of Darcy’s friends, but the voice I hear is distinctly masculine.
One of the things that sold me on my roommate is that she never brings guys to the apartment. “ My bedroom is a boy-free zone. No drama where I slumba ’ .” She’s not dating anybody, and if she has a hookup, she prefers going to his place.
So who could be at the door?
Another delivery?
I do my best not to panic, but that notion goes out the window when Darcy calls out, “Babe, there’s a detective here who wants to talk to you.”
She doesn’t sound concerned, but after what my stalker told me last night, I don’t share the sentiment.
I also don’t think addressing him in my pajamas is the best way to go, so I slip on a t-shirt and jeans before exiting my room.
As soon as I turn the corner, I see Detective Nash standing in the foyer at the end of the hall, his expression impassive.
“I apologize for the drop-in,” he says, “but I’ve been trying to get a hold of you the past few days, and you haven’t responded.”
“I just started a new job.” I don’t mean for it to sound defensive, but it does.
“Oh? At Westfall?”
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, I’m not going to hold my breath waiting for that call. No, it’s just a temporary gig as a scare actor.”
Nash looks confused, and when Darcy explains what I do, that expression turns to something less than impressed.
Warning bells sound off in my head at his request for a “private audience” with me.
“No problem. I’ve gotta get to class anyway.” Darcy disappears into her room and exits a moment later with her purse, jacket, and boots.
She blows me a kiss on her way out, and the atmosphere in the foyer changes almost instantly.
Nash invites himself into the area between the kitchen and living room, where we have a small two-seat table, taking his place on the side with his back open to the room.
This leaves me with the seat that has me feeling pinned between the table and the wall.
“We received an anonymous tip from someone who used the pay phone outside this very building. The only camera covering the spot is down the block, so there’s no way of getting an ID, but what this person said was far more interesting. Want to take a stab at what it was?”
I wasn’t even aware there was a pay phone outside, but we both know it’s not a question he expects me to answer. It’s the beginning of an accusation.
Sure enough, he settles back in his chair, looking far too comfortable, like I’m on his home turf, like this really is an interrogation room.
“They suggested we should look into you regarding the Westfall theft. Seeing as how we’ve done everything to keep your name out of the press, the tip came as one hell of a surprise.
Who could possibly know about your connection to the case? ”
If not for a friend or neighbor.
He doesn’t need to add that last part. The look he’s leveling me with speaks for itself.
“Admittedly, we should have done our due diligence and looked into you from the start, but then again, we had no reason to suspect your involvement. Taking a look into your record, however, definitely gives us pause, Miss Evans. Or should I say Carson ?” He flips open the folder he set on the table, and although I can’t read the documents since they’re upside down, I still recognize the layout as a police report.
“It seems you’ve had a rather rough go recently.
First, you lost your academic scholarship due to cheating and were in the process of being expelled from your university before you simply dropped out.
Then you try to place a restraining order on your ex-boyfriend, only for him to be granted one on you.
Based on your employment history, it seems you were struggling to keep a job, and then you accused that same ex-boyfriend of orchestrating an attack on you, despite him having an alibi.
You tried once more to get a restraining order on him, where the police had to involuntarily transfer you to a facility for a mandatory evaluation.
You spent the next thirty days at Bellevue Psychiatric Hospital, only to drop off the map entirely upon your release.
Nobody hears a word from you again for months, until you suddenly resurface over a thousand miles away with a new name.
From what we can tell, you have no connection to the area, no friends, no resources.
And it seems you’re getting by on limited funds.
Then, as luck would have it, the first job interview you have results in the robbery of over two million dollars worth of jewelry.
What are the odds? I’d say that’s a pretty cushy score when split five ways. ”
Considering there were only three robbers inside the store and the getaway driver out front, it only takes two brain cells to pick up what he’s putting down.
“You think I had something to do with the robbery?” I shouldn’t be surprised.
Not even remotely. But having one’s fears come to fruition tends to knock you on your ass, even when you’re already sitting.
“I swear, I had nothing to do with it. Take me down to the station and do a polygraph. It’ll tell you—”
“We don’t have one, Miss Evans. And as you may be aware, the findings aren’t admissible in court.”
Court? “Are you charging me with something?”
The features I once thought were sweet turn icy, cementing me to my seat as he stares back at me. “Not yet. I wanted to give you the opportunity to tell your side of the story first. Do you have anything to say for yourself?”
Fuck, fuck, fuck!
This is not good. By the time Detective Nash leaves, I’m shaking. I don’t let him see, but the second the door closes behind him, my knees buckle and my hands tremble so badly that I can’t even keep my grip on the doorknob before sinking to the floor.
The more he spoke, the more and more suspicious this all sounded.
If I did eventually find myself in a courtroom, the prosecution would have a field day.
Because of Sebastian, I have zero credibility.
Hell, I know the truth, and even I couldn’t blame a jury for finding me guilty.
Because it looks that bad. Nash painted the picture of a young woman who got swept up into a luxury lifestyle via her wealthy boyfriend, only to lose it all when he broke up with her.
Desperate and greedy to reclaim those things, she makes connections with the criminally inclined to get an easy payday for a theft that turned sour.
Nash played me the security footage inside Westfall Jewelers just as Keith left the shop, showing me slipping my hands into the pockets of my dress.
I do it all the time as a nervous habit when I feel I’m overusing my hands, but hearing his interpretation, hearing that he believes I had some kind of device that sent out a signal to my co-conspirators, letting them know that the shop was clear, it had bile burning my throat.