Page 100 of The Blackmail of Denise Randall

“Me. I have a blog. But they know it’s me, and they know where I live. I knew it was someone close. It has to be.” I shake my head. “Who is this?”

He slowly moves his hand from the top of my head to the base, gently running his fingers through my hair. “I’m not sure, but you can bet I’ll figure this out. Some asshole is trying to scare you.”

I push myself from him and hold up a finger. “Trying? They are. And how can you stand there and tell me not to be scared? Don’t you dare.”

“I wasn’t. I was-”

“Yes, you were.”

His voice booms as he takes a step toward me. “Dammit, Denise! Will you let me finish a fucking sentence! How about you stop telling me what I’m supposedly saying when you won’t even let me get a word out. Shit.” He starts pacing.

“I’m calling the police.”

“That’s a good idea,” Keaton says.

The police and my parents arrive. We answer the questions from the police, and they take the note as evidence. After everyone leaves, Keaton throws his hand out toward my bedroom. “Go pack some clothes and whatever else you need.”

“For?”

He runs his hand down his face as he mumbles, “Lord give me patience.”

“You can’t just tell me to pack my stuff and not tell me why. I need to know what I need to pack, don’t I?”

He spins around to face me with his arms outstretched. “You received a note that I consider to be threatening. You’ve already had a break-in. Considering your circumstances, it would be best if you come stay at my place for a while.”

“Or I could stay at the main house. Alice’s or Trent’s. I have choices.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m aware. But maybe they’d be less likely to know where I live.”

“I’m not your responsibility. Not that my parents would even-”

He doesn’t let me finish. Mumbling a few curse words he stomps off toward my bedroom. He throws open the door and begins going through my closet. I watch him, appalled at how he’s helping himself to my personal belongings. When I see him open my undergarment drawer, I rush in there with a huff.

“Excuse you!” I slam the drawer shut, barely missing his finger.

He leans in close to my ear and in a voice dripping with sin, he says, “You don’t think you’ll need any? I’m okay with that.”

He gives me a smirk and a wink, before moving on to the rest of my room.

“I won’t need them packed because I’m not staying with you.”

“Let’s hurry this up. I’m starving.”

He grabs a few tops out of my closet and throws them on the bed. I grab his arm and jerk.

“Stop messing up my room and let’s go eat then.”

He immediately stops. I’m stunned in a stupor for a moment as I watch him nod in agreement. Calmly, he leaves everything where it is and walks out carrying nothing. I flip off the light switch and watch him closely. Keaton strolls to the front door and holds it open for me.

“Where do you feel like eating?” he asks, as though we haven’t just been arguing for the last ten minutes.

“What’s going on?” I watch him from the corner of my eye as I walk past him and out onto the porch.

“We’re going to eat dinner. The question is where?” He shuts my door and keys in the code to lock it. Then he pulls out a set of keys from his pocket, and manually unlocks an old beat-up pickup.

“Where’s the Mustang?”

“She needed new tires. I left her at the shop.”

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