Total pages in book: 50
Estimated words: 46751 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 234(@200wpm)___ 187(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46751 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 234(@200wpm)___ 187(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
"Open the door, Sparrow. It's me."
She fumbles with the lock before throwing the door open.
I charge straight through, dragging her into my arms. She burrows into me, shaking like a little leaf.
"Gideon. I was so worried."
"I know, Sparrow," I murmur. "I know." I press my lips to her forehead. "I need you to get your shit together. Whatever you need until we can get you all packed up. You're not staying here any longer. It's not safe."
"Are you…" She blinks owlish, suspicious eyes at me. "Are you asking me to move in with you, Gideon?"
"No, baby. There's no asking involved. I'm telling you that you're moving in with me. I don't care how long you have left on your lease here. I'll pay the fee to break it. But we're getting you the fuck out of here. Now."
She doesn't argue with me. After this, I don't think she wants to argue. She scrambles to pack up enough shit to get her through the next few days while I step out to wait for Kane.
I already texted him to let him know that she's okay. But when he screeches not even two minutes later like his tires are on fire, I realize that I probably should have called him.
"What the fuck is going on?" he demands, stomping toward me.
I place my finger to my lips to silence him and lead him to my truck. "Someone tried to open the back window. When I chased them, someone else slipped into the house and left this on the couch," I say, opening the blanket to let him see what's inside. "Whoever left it knows I call her sparrow."
"Jesus fucking Christ," he growls, his face going white as he peers into the box. "Has she seen it?"
"Fuck no. She isn't going to see it either. That's the last thing she needs right now." I flip the blanket back up over the box. "I need you to get it to my guy at the PD."
"We're involving the PD?"
"Do you really think now is the time to keep them out of the loop?" I challenge. "This isn't just some overzealous fan or someone with a crush. This is her life. And he's threatening to kill her in front of thousands of people. We need all hands on deck."
"Yeah." He blows out a breath. "Never fucking thought I'd see the day I regretted not listening to John."
"He wanted to go to the police," I say. Kenna told me that before, but I'd set it aside. It was a stupid thing to do. So was ruling him out or treating this like any other stalker scenario.
"Yeah, when the poem showed up, he suggested taking it to the police."
"How'd he react when Kenna said no?"
"He wasn't thrilled."
I jerk my chin in a nod, pulling my phone out to pull up the camera feeds from the living room and front door. It doesn't take long to find what I'm looking for. Not even five minutes after I ran out, someone approaches the door. He's got a hat pulled down low over his face, obscuring most of it. Big, dark glasses and a beard cover the rest.
"Does he look familiar?" I ask Kane.
He watches the feed twice all the way through. "Maybe, but I can't place him. It's definitely not John, though. He's too fucking tall."
"Yeah, about six inches too tall."
Kane snorts.
"When you drop this shit off, ask Trent to look into anyone John has ties with who may have a criminal past who fits this general description," I say. "Focus on anyone who would owe him. Dig up anything he can find. And tell him I need him to move his ass."
"What are you thinking?" Kane asks, lifting the box from my truck and carrying it over to his. He places it carefully in his back floorboard, taking care not to jostle it too much.
"Not sure yet," I mutter, which isn't entirely true. The pieces are beginning to snap into place, and the picture they're forming is even more fucked-up than I realized. My gut says this is John because it is. But we cleared him of putting those photos in the dressing room because he's not the one who did it. Just like he wasn't in two places tonight.
I chased someone into the alley…and someone else put that fucking box in her apartment. I'm guessing the shadow I chased was her former manager. And whoever he's setting up to take the fall is the one who put the box on her couch. He suggested going to the police because he knew she wouldn't do it. And on the off chance she did, the evidence wouldn't point to him. It'd point to his fucking stooge.
If we can find that prick, we can nail John's ass to the wall. He's the one I want. He's the one behind this shit. I'm not sure what his endgame is here, but I don't think he intends to actually kill her. Is he trying to set himself up to be the hero? Is that his plan? Pretend someone wants to kill her so he can swoop in and save her life? Then she'll fall right into his arms and land on his dick?