Page 70 of Double Bucked

But something’s caught my attention.

I hold my grip on the bag. I pull out a small, purple, floral journal.

I look at James. His face is a mask.

“What’s this?” I ask.

“I found it,” he replies.

It’s a diary. My diary. I recognize the beaten, worn cover. Except the pages are littered with thin strips of multicolored Post-it notes. I flip the book open. My words. My teenager ramblings. Highlighted. Sections circled. With James’s compact, neat handwriting in the margins.

My heart launches itself into my throat. I nearly choke.

Even through the rushing surge of adrenaline, I force myself to keep my voice neutral.

“You found it,” I repeat slowly. “With your handwriting in it.”

I turn the page. I read James’s note scribbled in the margins.

“Obsessed with Colin Firth’s rendition of Pride & Prejudice. Must watch to understand the hold it has on her.” I snap the book shut. “What the fuck is this?”

His lips thin. He goes quiet.

“Answer me, James.”

When he speaks, his voice is dark and cold. A stone dropped down a well. “I can’t.”

The way he says it—it chills me to the bone.

This is a fear that wraps its fingers around my throat and squeezes.

“Is this a game to you?” I ask. “Reading my diary? Learning all the right things to say so—what? So you can get my inheritance? Well, the laugh is on you because he left me jack shit. No—you know what? Take the paperweight. All yours.”

I spin around. My head feels light on my shoulders. I can’t catch my breath.

You’re in a nightmare. A terrible, insane nightmare.

Wake up.

Wake. Up.

As I rush down the stairs, I text Ransom.

Need you. Now.

“Claire.”

I ignore James’s plea. I grab my jacket.

When my hand touches the doorknob, he grabs my arm. His grip is so tight it reminds me of his strength. What he’s capable of.

What is he capable of?

Have I ever known him, really? The man in my bed.

“You’re in danger,” he says. His voice is low, intense.

I meet his gaze. Those blue eyes.

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