Chapter 8 #2
“Yeah, it’s hers. And so is this. Look!” Joshua tossed the manila file toward Debra. “She had pictures of him! She’s a stalker! A straight-up stalker. You know Preston gets those every now and then. Some are harmless. Some are dangerous. She is clearly dangerous. Arrest her! Arrest her!”
And, sure enough, a picture of Preston fell out of the file and fluttered to the ground.
A soft sigh escaped Sloane. “This looks bad, doesn’t it? Like, very bad.”
It didn’t look great, that was for sure.
Preston realized that, instead of rage, at first, he just felt…
hell, disappointed. Because he’d wanted her to be more.
Because he’d started to feel more with her.
Started to think that maybe there was someone out there who could understand him.
She’d faced the dark with him. She’d tried to comfort him in the dark.
He’d held off on fucking her the night before because he’d been afraid to go too fast. Afraid to ruin something that could be precious.
But she’s just been stalking me?
Joshua was right. He did get stalkers every now and then. Sometimes, women stalked him because of his money. They thought they’d seduce him. Convince him to fall head over heels for them.
Impossible, of course. He’d long since discovered he couldn’t love.
But for just a moment, with Sloane…
No. No. He shut down the thought, and the strange tightness in his chest eased as rage began to coil beneath his skin.
Sometimes, he had stalkers because they’d learned about his past. They wanted to poke and prod at his old wounds and ask what it was like to be the survivor of a serial killer. They wanted to know every single, gory detail.
Sloane had already told him that she was a psychologist. Abnormal behavior. Maybe the truth had been staring him in the face.
“Yeah, whatever you’re thinking,” Sloane told him, “it’s wrong. You and I need to slip away and talk, privately. I can explain everything.”
Why hadn’t she explained sooner?
“Oh, you’re gonna need to talk, all right.” Debra glanced up from the file and the calendar. “I’m gonna want you to come down to the station with me,” the sheriff told Sloane. “I want you to talk with me.”
“Is that an invitation?” Sloane’s expression had gone blank. “Because I believe I may want to decline that invitation. I’m not dressed, and I’m pretty sure that my bra is tossed around near your feet.”
“It wasn’t an invitation. You’re about to get cuffs slapped on your wrists.” Debra’s eyes narrowed on Sloane. “What the hell did you do? Stalk him and then fuck him last night?”
Because Sloane stood there, looking tousled and sexy in his shirt. Only his shirt.
“Okay. Clearly, I need to get dressed. Let me get some clothing from the bags—” Sloane reached for one of her bags.
Debra lunged forward, stopping her. “Oh, hell, no, you’re not touching evidence.” Then she shoved the file and calendar—it was a little book calendar, bound in leather—under one arm and whipped out handcuffs. “Sloane Armstrong, you’re under arrest.”
“For what?” Sloane cried. “Come on, this cannot be happening!”
A cuff locked around her wrist.
It was happening.
I brought her home. I wanted to keep her close. I…wanted her.
Correction, he still wanted her.
While she’d been…using him? Stalking him.
“This—this Joshua person broke into my room at the inn! He went through my belongings without permission!” Rushed words from Sloane. “I haven’t committed any crime! You can’t arrest me when I haven’t done anything wrong!”
But Debra spun her around so that Sloane faced Preston. So that Debra had both of Sloane’s hands behind her back. And Debra locked the second cuff around Sloane’s wrist.
“Stop this,” Sloane said.
Preston’s stare lifted to her face.
“You can stop this right here and now, Preston. I know that you’re close with the sheriff.”
“You know…because you’ve been stalking me?”
“That is such an unfortunate word.”
And that wasn’t an answer.
Sloane swallowed. “Tell her to take the cuffs off.”
“I don’t work for him,” Debra snapped at her. “We’re going to my station. We are going now.”
“I don’t even have shoes on my feet! Dammit, Preston, help me!”
He wanted to scoop her into his arms. To run like hell away with her. “Have you been stalking me?” Yes, he used her unfortunate word.
And there it was. He saw it in the flicker of her thick lashes. The ripple that swept across her too gorgeous face. Guilty.
Fuck.
“It’s not what you think,” Sloane whispered.
Debra was tugging her away. Pulling her down the steps. Toward the patrol car.
“It’s not,” Sloane insisted as she twisted and tried to get back to Preston.
“You have the right to an attorney,” Debra informed her. “Anything you say can and will be used against you in—”
“What are my charges? I don’t remember hearing—”
“Conspiracy to commit kidnapping.”
“What?” Sloane’s mouth opened. Then snapped closed. “I didn’t kidnap Preston! I was trying to help him! Preston, Preston, dammit, listen to me! Help me!”
She was at the sheriff’s car.
“I’m about to add resisting arrest,” Debra huffed.
“No! Ahhh! Everyone needs to calm down. Take a breath!”
Take a deep breath. Pray it’s not your last.
Preston could not move.
“Look, at least get me more freaking clothes!” Sloane cried.
“I’ll get you clothes at the station.” Debra pushed her into the back seat. She finished Mirandizing Sloane and slammed the door.
“I…tried calling you with the news I had,” Joshua told him, voice tight as he, too, watched the scene unfold before them. “But you didn’t answer your phone.”
“It’s upstairs.” His eyes were on the car. Or, rather, on Sloane as she pressed her face to the window of the patrol car.
“She’s involved in this mess. You can’t trust her.”
“You know me. I don’t trust anyone.” But, with Sloane, for a bit there, he’d—
“Let the sheriff handle her.”
Sloane stared at him through the window, and that odd tightness was back in his chest. She just looked so heartbroken. And she was only wearing his shirt. He damn well couldn’t let her leave just in the shirt. Preston began marching for the car.
“Preston!” Joshua grabbed him.
Preston shook off his hold. One step. Another. Faster. Faster.
Debra stepped into his path. “I’m taking her to the station.”
“She…needs clothes.”
“The woman needs a good attorney, that’s what she’s going to need,” Debra muttered. Her dark brows beetled. “Look, I want you to come down to the station, too. You should put on clothes.”
He glanced down. Hell.
“I need to talk to you, get a full statement on everything that went down with your abduction. I want to know every word that woman in there…” Debra jerked her thumb over her shoulder as she indicated Sloane. “Every word she said to you.”
She hadn’t said enough. He’d questioned her in the limo. She’d stalled him. He hadn’t pushed at the time because he’d known she had to be wrecked. But then they’d gone back to his house.
Sloane had come against his mouth.
Fuck.
“I need to talk to her.” Had she been trying to manipulate him? Had she been involved with the abduction? It just didn’t seem possible. He shook his head. “She was buried in the ground with me.”
“Yes, but help came, didn’t it? Convenient help that arrived before she could be hurt. Maybe that whole freaking scene was a setup.” Her hand pushed against his chest. “Let me do my job. I’m taking her to the station. And I’ll be taking those bags of hers, too.”
He stepped to the side so that he could see Sloane again. Her desperate gaze met his. She shook her head.
“Just what do you know about the woman?” Debra pressed him. “Where did she come from? Why is she in town? What the hell does she do for a living? Other than, apparently, stalk you.”
“She’s a psychologist. Focuses on abnormal behavior.”
Debra snorted. “Like that’s not problematic. What’s more abnormal than stalking and burying someone?” She hurried toward the driver’s door of her vehicle. Wrenched it open.
Preston moved closer to the back door of the patrol car. Toward Sloane. Beautiful Sloane with that heart-stopping grin.
She stared up at him. Still wearing his shirt. One side sliding off her shoulder. He could see her so clearly through the glass, so he was able to see…
A tear slid down her cheek.
Preston wanted to break through the glass so that he could get to her. He wanted to wrench open the door. To grab her and…
Run away with her.
What the hell?
Run away, with the woman who might have just tried to kill him?
Just how fucked up was he?
But then again, wasn’t that a question he’d been asking himself for years?