Chapter 30
THIRTY
The second the apartment door shut behind them, Waylon flipped the deadbolt. Frankie didn’t say anything—just bent and scooped up Snoopy, who was wiggling so hard his entire backside wobbled. She buried her face in the puppy’s fur and let out a breath that sounded like it’d been stuck in her lungs all night.
Waylon pulled off his boots as he watched her walk to the couch. She curled into the corner with Snoopy on her lap, her eyes half-lidded and unreadable.
He crossed the room and sank down beside her, then draped his arm around her shoulders. Waylon brushed his other hand over Snoopy’s fur until the puppy started dozing.
“You warm enough, babe?”
She nodded. “Just tired.”
Waylon tucked her closer, but his jaw clenched as his mind circled back to the office at the scuba center. To the questions the detective had thrown at her.
He had been standing right beside Frankie, his hand on her back. She was sitting in the office chair while Detective Carter sat across the desk from her. The fluorescent lights overhead were too bright and the smell of chlorine made his nose sting. All he wanted was to take his Pixie home and comfort her. She looked exhausted, staring at the desk blotter and not meeting the detective’s eyes.
“Ms. Whitmore,” Detective Carter said. His voice was calm but Waylon could hear the underlying skepticism. “Derek claims you invited him to meet you in the parking lot.”
Frankie’s head jerked up, her eyes narrowing.
“What?” She looked at the detective, then at Waylon. Her eyes were full of confusion. “I told him not to contact me again. You can look at my phone. Where…?” She looked around wildly and Waylon grabbed her bag off the floor and set it on the desk. “I’ll show you,” she said as she dug through it. She pulled out her phone and unlocked it. Waylon watched over her shoulder as she scrolled through her texts. When she got to Derek’s name, she scrolled to the last text and Waylon read the words, Derek, the lingerie you sent me was wildly inappropriate. Do not contact me again. There were no texts after that.
“Here you go.” She turned her phone so that Carter could read the screen.
If anything the detective looked more skeptical. “Not texts. He says you sent him messages through an app.”
“An app?”
“Yes. It’s a friend-finding app called BeMyNeighborCO.”
Frankie blinked, then let out a shaky laugh. “Oh my God,” she murmured, relaxing slightly. “He’s definitely lying. It was my last day of chemo. He must’ve overheard Bea giving me the name of that app. She insisted that I check it out to make some new friends.” She glanced at Waylon. “After Dan…”
He squeezed her shoulder. The look of pain in her eyes nearly undid him.
“So you downloaded and used the app?” Carter asked, his expression unreadable.
“Yeah, but…” Frankie hesitated, her voice tr ailing off. “I made a profile back in April, then immediately forgot about it. Chemo brain fog.” She tapped her forehead.
“Do you remember your username?”
“Yeah. WereWwoofer.” Frankie frowned. “I deleted it at the end of September.”
“Why?” Carter’s gaze sharpened.
Frankie’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “Well… I got a match. But the guy sent me…” Her cheeks flushed. “An inappropriate photo. So I reported it and deleted the app.”
“Do you still have the photo?”
“No,” Frankie said softly, her voice tight and clipped.
“And you didn’t reinstall the app and use it to communicate with Dr. Sloane?”
Frankie looked appalled. “No, of course not! Why would I be in contact with him? He’s been stalking me. I wanted him out of my life.”
Carter paused before speaking. “May I see your phone?”
Waylon squeezed her shoulder again, this time protectively. “Frankie, you aren’t the criminal here.” He kept his voice low and steady. Now Carter was studying him like he was a criminal.
Frankie gave him a small smile and reached for his hand. Her fingers brushed his. “I know.” She handed her phone to Carter. “Go ahead. I’ve got nothing to hide.”
Carter scrolled for a moment, his expression neutral, but then his jaw tightened. He tapped the screen, reading intently, and scrolled some more. When he finally looked up, his gaze landed squarely on Waylon.
“Mr. Ramson,” Carter said firmly. “Would you mind stepping out for a moment? I need to speak with Ms. Whitmore alone.”
“No,” Frankie said, her voice firm. “He’s not going anywhere.”
Carter’s voice softened. “Ms. Whitmore… do you feel safe right now with Mr. Ramson in the room?”
“Yes, of course I do. I have no idea what Derek was talking about. I never told him to meet me or any of the other weird things he said.” Frankie frowned. “What… what is it?”
Carter sighed and handed the phone back to her, but his eyes never left Waylon.
Waylon leaned in and glanced at the screen just as Frankie gasped.
“I… I don’t understand.” Her voice trembled. “This can’t be right. I deleted the app. I swear.”
But there it was on her phone. Open. Active.
A conversation stared back at them between WereWWoofer and XMarksTheSpot . The last line was from WereWwoofer, saying that she wanted to meet up in the parking lot before Waylon arrived. Frankie scrolled up to the beginning of the chat. Waylon felt sick as he read the messages.
The first one was dated a couple of days after Frankie spent the night at Waylon’s, after her alarm failed. As the conversation continued up until that night, WereWwoofer made it clear she was in love with XMarksTheSpot but that her boyfriend, Waylon, was possessive, dangerous when he was jealous. That he made her file a restraining order against her will. She felt helpless and controlled and wanted out.
This can’t be real. She wouldn’t .
Frankie’s hand shook as they read the messages. “This is a setup. Derek set me up.” Her wide, panicked eyes darted between Carter and Waylon. “This isn’t me.”
“It’s your username and his. It’s on your phone,” Carter said grimly. “And the chats match what’s on his.”
Frankie looked shocked. Then her eyes widened again.
“Wait a minute,” she whispered, her eyes narrowing. “ XMarksTheSpot …” She blinked rapidly. “That’s the guy who sent me the dick pic back in April.”
Waylon stiffened beside her. “What?”
“I’m sure of it.” Frankie’s voice was stronger now. “I told Steph about it. ”
“Steph?” Carter asked.
“Stephanie West. She works at the rec center. I went in later that day and told her what happened. I knew she’d laugh. She asked to see it, but I told her I’d deleted the app. She wanted to see the picture, but…” Frankie’s voice faltered. “That was gone too. I thought I deleted it by accident. But…maybe not.” She clenched the phone, waving it at Carter. “He’s manipulating my phone,” she said. “This is all a sick joke.”
She turned to Waylon. The desperation in her eyes gutted him. “It’s not real. I don’t love him. I’m not afraid of you. I swear.”
Waylon touched her cheek.
Carter stood. “Well… either way, Derek’s been arrested for attempted kidnapping, violating the restraining order, and assault.” He slipped his notepad into his pocket. “If I have any more questions, I’ll be in touch.”
“I didn’t chat with him,” Frankie said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
Carter’s eyes flicked to Waylon one last time. “Frankie… once more, are you sure you feel safe?”
“Yes.” His Pixie spoke firmly and without a hint of hesitation.
Waylon settled a sharp gaze on Carter. “I believe her. And even if I didn’t…” His jaw clenched. “I’d never hurt her.”
Carter studied him for a moment longer before nodding. “I’m sure I’ll be in touch. If you need anything…” His gaze lingered on Waylon as he pointed to his business card on the desk. “Don’t hesitate.”
As the door closed behind the detective, Frankie stood and Waylon pulled her into his arms.
“You believe me?”
“Babe, of course I do,” he murmured, his voice low and fierce. “We’re gonna figure this out.”
Frankie buried her face in his chest, her body trembling.
“Promise?”
“Promise,” Waylon whispered, pressing a kiss to her hair.
Now, back in their apartment, Waylon was determined to keep that promise. He’d called Shane immediately after the ‘interrogation’ and his brother was out the door and headed for Watchdog before Waylon had even finished filling him in.
“You and Frankie meet me there. I’m calling our IT guy the second we hang up. He can clone Frankie’s phone, dig around in there and figure out what Derek did. In the meantime, I can fill you in on Kathy Rhodes.”
“You found her.”
“Sure did. And we had an interesting conversation. We’ll talk when you get here.”
Elias and Wren followed them to Watchdog. While the tech guy, Flint, worked on Frankie’s phone, Shane filled them all in.
“Derek had a pattern. Hell, he had a whole playbook.”
Kathy Rhodes had been a cancer patient at the Chicago hospital where Derek practiced. She’d filed a restraining order after Derek turned obsessive. She’d told Shane about another woman Derek targeted—also a cancer patient—but she wouldn’t give him her name. That woman never filed—too scared.
“He targeted women at their most vulnerable, the bastard,” Shane said. “He was the doctor who would save their lives and win their hearts.”
“Disgusting,” Waylon said.
“Kathy told me he love-bombed them. Played the sensitive-but-awkward card. Softened them up with compliments and flowers. Then when they started to see him for what he was—when they said no? He didn’t hear it. Or he didn’t care.”
He doubled down.
Sent gifts they didn’t want. Messages they didn’t answer. Accusations. Obsession.
“He never crossed the line far enough to get arrested. Always knew when to back off—just enough. Like it was a game. Like he’d studied the law and learned how far he could go without consequences.”
Kathy’s restraining order was the only one on record. It wasn’t enough to tank him—just get his privileges yanked temporarily. When that happened, he paid Kathy off in return for her not showing up at the hearing. Her bills had piled up and she was desperate. He promised he’d leave Chicago and never contact her again. At least he’d kept his word on that.
Waylon’s jaw flexed.
Frankie wasn’t his first target. But he would make damn sure she’d be his last. At least the son of a bitch was in jail now, unable to mess with Frankie.
When Flint was done with Frankie’s phone, Waylon finally brought her home.
He looked at her now, curled up, pale, trying not to show how rattled she still was.
She let out a slow breath. “He knew you were watching him, too.”
Waylon had been—along with his brothers. Twenty-four-seven at first, then less as Derek stayed quiet. Or so they thought.
Mistake .
“Yeah. I don’t know how he knew we were watching him. We’re good at what we do. And Watchdog? Hell, they’re even better.”
But something had tipped him off.
“At least it’s over,” Frankie said. “And even if the detective doesn’t believe me, it doesn’t matter, so long as you do.”
“You know I do.”
And you believe I’d never hurt you, that I’m not the man I was . That was all he needed.
Frankie scooped up Snoopy carefully so as not to wake him and set him down on his doggie bed beside the couch. Waylon pulled her onto his lap. She kissed him.
“I need a shower,” she said.
He picked her up and carried her to the bathroom .
She curled into his chest, her arms around his neck. His Pixie.
Waylon got the water to the temperature she liked. He helped her peel off her clothes slowly like he was unwrapping something precious. He reached around her and undid her bra then eased it down her arms and let it fall. He kissed her scars like they were sacred. The right one first, then the left. His fingers skimmed over her ribs, her hips, down her thighs. Every inch he touched made her shiver.
Frankie stepped into the shower first. Waylon was right behind her, his body pressed to hers. He washed her like it was a ritual—gentle, reverent, unhurried. Gentle hands and warm water, soap trailing over her growing curves. Her back. Her arms. He knelt to wash her legs and looked up at her. He’d never seen anyone more beautiful.
She was quiet at first, letting him tend to her, her breathing slow and steady. But when he stood and pressed a kiss to her neck, her whole body leaned into his.
“Your turn,” she whispered.
“Later.”
He toweled her off with the same tenderness, then carried her back to bed.
Frankie curled into the pillows as he joined her, her eyes following every movement as he settled beside her. When he touched her again, it wasn’t with urgency. It was reverence. Worship.
He kissed her deeply, slowly, his tongue teasing hers as his hand moved over her skin, tracing the lines of her body. She was soft beneath his fingers,
When he slipped between her thighs, she lifted her hips to meet him. She was warm and open. Ready.
Waylon entered her in one slow, deep stroke, groaning as her body welcomed him in. She gasped, her fingers gripping his back, her legs wrapping around his waist as he began to move. He didn’t rush. Her hips rocked with his in a slow rhythm. She looked up at him like he was the only man in the world, and he felt it—deep in his chest .
“God, Frankie,” he murmured against her jaw. “You feel like heaven.”
She whimpered as he thrust deeper, harder. His fingers found her clit and rubbed slow circles that made her tremble beneath him.
She came with a cry, her whole body tightening, her pussy clenching around him like she never wanted to let go.
He followed with a deep groan, burying himself to the hilt as he came inside her, pulsing, his breath catching as he whispered her name.
When it was over, he lowered his head until their foreheads pressed together. He stayed inside her, chest to chest. He brushed his thumb over the curve of her cheek.
“You okay?” he whispered.
Frankie nodded, her eyes shining. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.” Waylon kissed her gently. “So let’s make this real.”
“Real?” She looked confused.
“Yeah. Move in with me. For real. I can’t stand the idea of coming home to an empty apartment anymore. You made it a home, Pixie.” He grinned. “And I’m not talking about the furniture.”
She laughed. “Okay. I will.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
They lay tangled in the sheets, his hand resting over her heart, his body curled protectively around hers as she drifted to sleep.
And long after she’d gone quiet, he stayed awake, holding her close like he’d never let go of her again.