5. Karolina
KAROLINA
Istare at my laptop, but words don’t flow from my fingers. Attempting to work on my novel is useless when all I can think about is the shock on Amala’s face when she caught me with Rand only an hour ago.
I stare at my phone, reading the message I sent her for the dozenth time.
Karolina
Can you meet me, please? I need to talk to you.
As though I’ve willed her to finally answer me, her reply fills my screen.
Amala
Where and when?
I suck in a deep breath, but I don’t quite dare to hope she’ll accept the fact that I was kissing my professor.
At least she’s responded. She might give me a chance to explain.
Well, there’s not much I can tell her about the situation. I’m not willing to reveal that Rand is also the online masked man I’ve been talking to for years. That’s too perverse.
And from an outsider’s perspective, I have to acknowledge it’s pretty unhinged that he got a job at University of York just to be with me.
At the very least, I can tell Amala that I know Rand from before our MA started. As he said, our course only lasts a year, and we’re almost the same age. It’s not socially acceptable that we have a relationship, but if I explain to Amala that we have history, it might sway her.
She might agree to keep the secret that could cost me everything.
I harden my resolve and type out another message.
Karolina
Are you free now? I’m at Brownie Bakehouse.
Amala
I can meet you there in half an hour.
Karolina
Thank you.
She reads my text but doesn’t say anything else.
The next thirty minutes will be painful, but at least she’s agreed to talk.
All I can do is hope her kind nature prevails, and she doesn’t come here simply to judge me for my choices.
“Karolina.” A masculine voice says my name, but it’s not Rand.
My entire body locks up tight. No one in York should know who I am.
My stalker is dead.
The stranger plucks my phone from my chilled fingers and settles down in the empty chair across from me.
I have no idea who he is. A touch of grey at his temples lightens his otherwise black hair, and his olive skin is slightly weathered with early signs of aging. He’s rakishly attractive, but his nose looks like it’s been broken a few times.
“Act like we’re old friends, Miss Taylor,” he commands, his voice lightly accented. He sounds Italian.
“Who are you?” I manage to choke out the question when I want it to be a sharp demand.
“What matters is who you are,” he replies smoothly, tucking my phone into his pocket.
I can’t call Rand for help.
I could scream, but this man knows my real identity. He could compromise my new life.
He’s not going to hurt me in the middle of a café. We’re surrounded by tourists in the center of town. There’s no way he could make a move against me without getting arrested.
“I’m here on behalf of my family,” the man continues, as though he’s oblivious to my quiet terror.
He takes out some folded papers. Moving with deft precision, he smooths the creases and lays the damning evidence on the table between us.
It’s a printed article about the flood that killed my parents.
My blood goes cold.
He lifts the paper, revealing a second one beneath it. A younger version of me is printed in black and white. I’m wearing a leotard and fluffy tutu, my dancer’s form perfect as I stand frozen en pointe.
It’s a photo from a small feature in my local paper; it was published before I was placed in foster care.
“What do you want from me?” I meet his black gaze with pleading eyes.
Maybe he’s here to blackmail me. Not that I have any money.
It doesn’t make sense, but here he is, sitting in front of me with clear knowledge of my past.
My throat closes when he flips the page to reveal a third article: arson at my foster home. Evidence of a murder in the burned stables. Three children missing, including a teenage girl.
Karolina Taylor.
“I want revenge,” he answers coolly.
My mind scrambles. Does he know Carter or Brandon?
Both boys ended up in foster care because they didn’t have family willing to take them in. This man is too old to be their childhood friend.
“How do you know?” I whisper.
“I found you through Brandon.”
My heart stops.
This man knows I murdered my first love. After all these years, he’s here to make me pay for what I did.
“I didn’t mean to.”
It’s the same pathetic excuse I tell myself when I can’t sleep at night.
“Whatever you intended doesn’t matter,” the stranger drawls.
“Please. I don’t have any money, if that’s what this is about. I don’t have anything to offer you.”
“This isn’t about money.” He leans forward slightly, menace rolling off him in waves. “This is about Ragnarok.”
Confusion muddles my mind. He’s talking about the Viking myth of the apocalypse. Is he making a reference to the fact that he’s threatening to blow up my new life?
“I don’t understand,” I plead.
He scowls. “You don’t have to understand. All that matters is I know exactly where to find you.”
He shakes his head, rueful. “I try not to harm women. This is your one chance to save yourself. If we meet again, I won’t be so nice.” He flicks his fingers in the direction of the exit. “Run, little lamb.”
He still has my phone. I can’t call Rand.
I don’t waste another second asking questions. The threatening stranger is giving me a chance to evade him. I won’t linger when I’m clearly in danger.
I snap my laptop closed and shove it in my bag. His low laugh follows me as I dart out of the café.
Once I’m on the street, I break into a run.
I have to find Rand. He’s the only person I can turn to for protection.
Even if I were willing to go to the police at this point, that stranger can show them evidence that Karolina Taylor is a killer. I won’t just be deported; I’ll be arrested.
My feet pound the pavement as I race to Rand’s house across town. I’m there in a matter of minutes. I haven’t been sprinting for long, but my brow is damp with sweat.
I slam my fist against the door. “Rand!”
He appears in seconds.
I throw myself into his arms, and the door snaps shut behind me. The lock slides into place.
“What happened?” he asks, voice rough with panic. “Are you hurt?”
I can’t stop shaking. His hands rove over my pebbled skin, attempting to melt the icy shards that score my veins. Cold terror is shredding me from the inside.
“I’m not hurt.” I force out the reassurance. “But there was a man…”
Rand’s arms flex around me in an iron cage. “Where is he?”
I shake my head. “He found me at Brownie Bakehouse. He took my phone. I don’t know if he’s still there.”
“Did he give his name?” His face is like thunder.
“No. But he knows my name. He knows I’m a killer. He wasn’t blackmailing me. He said it was about revenge. He must know…”
I choke on Brandon’s name. I’ve been trying to hide my deepest sin from Rand, but I have to tell him. Maybe he can help me figure out how to get rid of the threatening stranger if he understands why I’m being targeted.
“I didn’t only kill Carter,” I admit, stomach churning. “I shot Brandon. I murdered my first love. The man who threatened me said he found me because of Brandon. He knows what I did.”
Rand’s hands flex on my lower back, drawing me closer. “Why did you shoot him?”
My eyes burn. “Carter said they planned to…share me that night. I had to protect myself, but I didn’t mean to.”
The same useless, hollow excuse.
“And you believed Carter?” Rand’s voice is rough, but his face is carefully blank.
I can’t read him at all. Is he hiding his disgust over what I did?
“Brandon told Carter where to find me in the woods that night. He knew how I liked to be chased.” Even now, my heart aches at the betrayal.
But that only layers over the agony of what I did to him. What I lost that night.
“I loved Brandon, and I killed him. I can never take it back.”
Rand touches two fingers beneath my chin, so I have no choice but to look up at him. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You protected yourself. No one could blame you for that.”
I blink away the haze at the corners of my vision. He’s offering me a lifeline, and I don’t want to lose sight of him through a blur of tears.
“I blame myself,” I say, strained.
He caresses my cheek. “I don’t want this to haunt you anymore. Thank you for telling me. I need you to forgive yourself.”
“I don’t think that’s possible. Especially now that a stranger is coming after me because of what I did. He wouldn’t be here if he thought I was blameless.”
A shadow flutters at Rand’s jaw when I mention the man. “What else did he say to you? He knew about Brandon?”
I search my mind, forcing myself to remember the conversation in detail. “He said he found me through Brandon. Somehow, he traced me back to the murder. He knew about my parents’ deaths and my ballet.”
Rand’s eyes flash, but his touch on my face remains achingly gentle.
“What else did he say?”
“Just that he wanted revenge. I think he’s planning to destroy my life. Or maybe he wants to kill me for what I did.” I swallow hard. “He said something about not wanting to hurt me because I’m a woman, but he made it clear that I would suffer if we meet again.”
My fingers curl into his shirt. “I don’t understand why this is happening.
Do you think my stalker knew about Brandon, too?
Is that why he was tormenting me? He would’ve cut my throat if you hadn’t stopped him.
I thought Brandon didn’t have any family left when we were in our foster home, but he clearly had connections to people who care about his death. ”
“We’ll figure out what to do. I’ve got you,” he promises, pulling me closer.
I tuck my face against his neck, leaning into his warmth.
I don’t deserve this tender care.
“I just told you I shot my first love,” I murmur against his pulse. “Doesn’t that horrify you?”
He brushes a kiss over my forehead. “Nothing you could do would make me leave you, Karolina.”
Wet heat finally slides down my cheeks. I close my eyes and allow myself to rely on him completely.
“We need to get out of York,” he says. “Until we know why this stranger is threatening you, it’s not safe for you here. You remember how I told you I have a friend who’s good with tech? He can help look into this. We’ll get the answers you need, and then no one will be able to hurt you ever again.”
I don’t want to leave my life as Lena Williams, but at this point, it’s blatantly obvious that staying in town is beyond stupid.
“Where?” I ask.
His mouth softens with relief at my easy agreement; I guess he expected me to argue.
“I have a house in the countryside, not far from town. It’s remote enough that no one will be able to sneak up on us, and I have security measures in place there.”
I nod. Staying in a private home with an alarm system is safer than wandering around the streets of York by myself.
“I’ll drive,” he says.
“I need to get some things from my place.”
“No, he might know where you live. I’ll provide everything you need.”
I don’t mind his highhandedness or intensity in this moment; I need his protection.
“Okay,” I agree. “Let’s get out of here.”