Page 78 of Catching My Dreams

Ella was terrified, but she’d found the fight her fear had stolen from her. She kicked her knee up, landing a solid hit between his legs. Brett groaned and rolled off of her, falling to the side to cradle his injury.

Ella scrambled to her feet, her knees knocking painfully against the cold tile before she managed to stand up. She yanked the door open, letting out a cry of relief when she saw Noah racing toward her, Archie yapping at his heels.

His expression softened when their gazes met, relief easing the tension in his body. “Ella,” he breathed out before his eyes shot above her shoulder and widened.

She turned, her feet carrying her backward and away from Brett, who was standing despite the pain he was obviously in. Noah was quick to step between them, his body shielding Ella from Brett.

“You fucking bastard,” Noah gritted out. He stalked forward, his right hand curled into a fist, and when he was close enough, he swung.

His fist met Brett’s nose with a crack. He drew his arm back to strike again, but Brett had an advantage that Noah couldn’t fight. Between one blink and the next, he’d vanished.

“Damnit,” Noah muttered. He spun around, his eyes settling on Ella. “Are you okay?”

She nodded, but Noah’s gaze settled on her cheek where Brett had struck her.

He walked to her and cupped her face, his thumb grazing the skin just below her tender cheek. “I’ll kill him,” he growled, and Ella knew he meant it.

Noah looked over his shoulder. “He could come back any second.” He returned his gaze to her, letting her see the worry in his eyes. “We need to call the police.”

Ella nodded, but she knew the police could do nothing. They would never find Brett. They would never catch him.

She would give them her statement, they would file a report, and they would promise her that they were doing everything they could, but nobody could stop Brett from coming for her again. Not even Noah could keep her safe.

22

“And you didn’t hear him enter the house?” Detective Perez asked Ella, his forehead lined with doubt. Or maybe it was confusion, but she wasn’t in the right frame of mind to be giving anyone the benefit of the doubt.

“No,” she replied impatiently. “I was washing my face, and when I finished and looked in the mirror, he was behind me. If I’d heard him before that, I would have locked the bathroom door and called the cops.”

The detective sighed. “I know this is frustrating, Miss Montgomery, but we need to be thorough.”

Ella winced. He was right. She was being a brat. “Sorry,” she murmured, shifting so that Archie was cutting off the circulation in her other arm. The Yorkie had been even more clingy than usual after Brett’s visit. “I know you’re just doing your job.”

The man smiled in a kind of grimace. “I don’t blame you after the last few months you’ve had.” He would know since he’d been the detective assigned to Asher’s case. He flipped the page in his notebook. “Do you know how he got into the house?”

“I usually lock the back door after I let Archie out, but I must have forgotten this time.”

It was a lie. Ella never forgot to lock it despite Brett’s ability to get into any locked room, and Noah had only been able to get in the front door because she’d given him a spare key. There would be no signs of forced entry, so the only way to explain Brett’s presence in the house was to blame it on her non-existent carelessness.

“Noah and I locked it after Brett left,” she lied again, knowing he was likely to check the door if he hadn’t already. “We didn’t want to risk him coming back.”

“And you said he ran off when your boyfriend arrived? He didn’t try anything else?”

Ella nodded, her hand reaching out and clutching Noah’s fingers. She took care not to let her clumsy fingers brush against his red and swollen knuckles.

He was beside her on the living room couch, and Ella was beyond grateful that the detective hadn’t asked him to leave. She was so fragile she probably would have broken down and had a panic attack if he’d left her side.

“He left after I punched him in the face,” Noah supplied. “He didn’t have a knife like last time, so I guess he wasn’t feeling as brave this time around.”

“Right,” the detective replied. “And he didn’t say anything that would give us a clue about where he’s hiding out?”

Ella shook her head. “Nothing like that. He was just going on about—” She swallowed past the tightness in her throat. “About how he’d made a mistake, and he never meant to hurt me.”

“He’s a fucking psychopath,” Noah muttered.

“Actually, I consulted with a forensic psychologist who helped me on another case, and she thinks Brett is suffering from something called erotomania,” Detective Perez told them.

A shudder went through Ella at the word and its implications.

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