Chapter Fourteen #2
“Are you okay?” I ask.
He nods. “Yes, thank you.”
Guiltily, I realize I’ve been so absorbed in my own life, and so determined to keep my distance from him, that I haven’t even registered how quiet he’s been lately.
“Luke,” I say softly, dipping my head to catch his eye. “What’s going on?”
He lifts his gaze to mine. “I’m fine. Just tired.”
“Why? Are you sleeping okay?”
“Sleep is for the weak,” he says, lips twisting. As the elevator dings, he gestures for me to precede him, and we walk out.
“You’re not sleeping well?” I ask, concerned.
He’s quiet for a moment as we walk along the corridor. As we arrive at my door, though, he says, “Let’s just say my mind is on other things.” He touches his key card to the pad and goes inside.
I wait in the doorway while he does his checks and hear him say, “All clear,” as he returns to the doorway, reporting back to whoever’s in the office. He stops in front of me, but I don’t move.
“Tell me what’s bothering you,” I ask. “Come on. You can talk to me. I won’t tell anyone.”
*
Luke
I look away, across the room to the view of the city out of the window. My heart bangs, but I stay composed. “It’s just a stressful time, that’s all.”
“Do you mean at work?” she asks.
“Partly.”
She looks puzzled. “Actually, now that I think about it, there have been a few more security officers around again lately. I’m sorry, I haven’t paid much attention because of what’s been going on. Has something happened?”
I curse myself under my breath. I shouldn’t have admitted it was something to do with work.
“You can tell me,” Aurelia says again. “I promise I won’t tell anyone.”
Jesus. How do I let her know that I want to confide in her more than anything without telling her what I’ve sworn to keep secret?
Luckily, the office has been so busy with all the events of the past few weeks that she obviously hasn’t realized the step-up in security.
She’s just assumed it’s something to do with the increase in people coming and going due to the possible Rutherford partnership.
She hasn’t realized it’s all to do with her.
Nearly two weeks ago now, we started seeing an increase in the amount of emails and social media messages we were intercepting.
Clearly, whoever was responsible wasn’t afraid and wasn’t easing off.
Ella put an officer on Dominic Blackthorne full time in the hope of proving he was responsible, but we don’t have a single shred of evidence, and I’m still unconvinced that he’s the perpetrator.
And then, on Monday, another gift arrived.
It was the first to be sent to her apartment, rather than the office, and it was so innocuous that we missed it completely. Aurelia arrived that evening, and told me as we made our way into the elevator that she needed to call in at reception because she’d had a message saying she had a parcel.
I felt my first flare of warning, because we hadn’t intercepted any such message. “What message?” I asked casually.
“Oh, someone left a note on my desk at work saying there’d been a call,” she replied dismissively. The elevator doors opened, and I followed her out and across to reception. “Have you got a parcel for me?” she asked Roy, the guy behind the desk.
“Yes, ma’am.”
While he turned to retrieve it, she took out her phone, so she wasn’t looking up when he came back.
I took the small white Jiffy bag from him and turned away a little to examine it. She’s used to that and didn’t complain as I opened the envelope and pulled out a small white box. It was the kind that jewelry comes in, and it wasn’t sealed, so I opened the lid.
Inside was a silver self-defense whistle with a red bow around it, and a card with a heart on it. My heart pounding, I flipped it over. It said, You won’t need this if Luke keeps doing his job.
“What was it?” Aurelia said from behind me.
I turned back to her, pocketing the card before she could see it. I couldn’t just hide the package because she’d get suspicious, so I showed it to her. “I forgot to tell you that Ella thought you might want one of these after the incident with those guys outside Ivan’s place,” I say.
Aurelia took it out of the box, examined it, shrugged, and slid it into the pocket of her jacket. “Okay, thanks.” She turned away then and walked back to the elevator, and didn’t give it another thought, as far as I know.
As soon as I’d checked her apartment, I drove back to the office and called everyone back in. “He knows my name,” I told them all, “and that I’m teaching her self-defense. He knows I’m her CPO.”
It shocked us all to realize the stalker isn’t just watching Aurelia; he’s watching me. He knows I’m trying to protect her.
Ella immediately raised the threat level to amber, where it’s remained since.
Everyone’s on the alert, concerned and worried. But they’re only feeling a fraction of the terror that’s gripping my heart. And the worst thing is, I can’t tell Aurelia.
I want to, more than anything. But I can’t, and it’s killing me. I don’t sleep well anyway, but at the moment I’m practically an insomniac. Something’s got to give, but I’m determined it’s not going to be me.
She’s still looking at me expectantly, and I know that after my near-slip, I need to distract her.
“It’s personal,” I say quietly, knowing that any reveal about my past will keep her interested.
“Oh?” She leans on the door post, looking concerned.
“I have nightmares,” I admit. Because it’s true, I’m not lying to her. “After Afghanistan. They’ve been worse lately, for some reason.” I don’t tell her it’s because I’m afraid for her.
Her kind green eyes study me, and for a moment I think she knows I’m attempting to distract her. But she says, “Do you take any medication?”
I shake my head. “I did for a while. I don’t like how it makes me feel.”
“Are you seeing a therapist?”
That makes me give a genuine sigh. “No. Again, I did for a while, but it felt as if I was just dredging up the past all the time. I want to put it behind me.”
I wait for her to ask what happened again, but she doesn’t.
Instead, she says, “I know what you mean. But sometimes therapists come up with techniques and ways to deal with emotions and thoughts. Like cognitive brain therapy. You have to develop new pathways for your brain to travel down, so it doesn’t keep going over the same thoughts. ”
I shove my hands in the pockets of my trousers. “Yeah, I guess.”
“Don’t get defensive,” she scolds. “I’m not going to force you to do anything you don’t want to do.” I scowl, and she chuckles. “Go home,” she tells me. “Have a beer, watch some rugby, and try to get a good night.”
Well, I’m not drinking, and I have a lot of work to do when I get home—I have a couple of days’ worth of daily reports to read, and loads of text messages and emails to go through. But I don’t tell her that. “Okay.”
“You know what you really need?” she asks mischievously.
I lift a brow.
Her lips curve up.
We haven’t flirted for a few weeks, because I’ve been worried, and she’s been completely focused on her work. So it’s the first time I’ve felt that flip in my stomach, and the rapid beat of my pulse.
“Just saying,” she says cheekily.
“My cue to leave,” I tell her with exasperation that isn’t entirely fake.
She just laughs and steps aside, and I walk out.
“Try to get some sleep,” she says, holding the door. “I mean it, Luke. I’m worried about you.”
She’s worried about me. Jesus.
“Goodnight,” I say, wishing I could stay with her, so I’d be there to protect her. If we were together, I wouldn’t let her out of my sight.
“’Night.” She winks at me, then lets the door close slowly, and I walk away, wishing frustration wasn’t the main emotion that fills me every time we part.