Page 21 of Dangerous Obsession

She didn’t consider herself the paranoid type, and there was a slight chance her nerves were on edge because of that stupid note, but she was pretty darn sure she’d heard something rustling around in the alley behind her house. And now, contrary to all of her righteous, puffed-up proclamations about regaining her independence and doing things for herself, she wished a certain six-foot-eight specially trained sniper would hurry the heck up and get there. She would only feel safe once Viking arrived.

An admission that took her by surprise.

Bang! Crash!

“Ack!” Her heart skipped a beat, and she spun in the direction of the sound. She definitely didnotimagine that. Something … or someonewas in her backyard.

“Crap.” Her feet seemed cemented in place, and she pondered her options.

No way was she calling Dulce. She’d already bothered them enough for one day. 9-1-1 was an option, but she’d die of embarrassment if it turned out to be nothing.

She swallowed her pride like a bitter pill, snatched her phone off the coffee table, and dialed Viking’s number.

He answered after one ring. “Hi, Marigold. What’s up?”

Gosh golly jeepers, the things his deep rumbly voice did to her girly bits should be illegal. And quite possibly were in some parts of the world.

“There’s … I think—”

“What’s the matter?” He went from congenial to serious in the blink of an eye.

“I’m probably being a baby, but I keep hearing strange noises coming from my backyard.”

“Listen to me, Marigold. I want you to do exactly what I tell you.” Viking was calm and all business. “Head upstairs to your bathroom and lock yourself in. I’m turning onto your street now.”

“Oh, well, then I’ll just—”

“Please, just do as I ask.” His words were an unusual combination of gentle and commanding.

Cliff had been commanding but in a totally different, more terrifying way. At some point, he’d also given up on being gentle.

“I’ll check things out and text you when it’s safe for you to let me in. Got it?” She heard tires squeal to a stop out front. “Tell me you understand, Marigold.”

As much as she wanted to throw the door open and run outside to him, she deferred to his expertise. Besides, she wasn’t the clingy type.

“Yeah, I got it.” She hurried up the stairs, grabbed her baseball bat from where it leaned against the wall by the head of her bed, then dashed into the bathroom. She flipped the sturdy lock—a lesson learned—scooched to the farthest corner of the room, and held the metal bat up, ready to go all Babe Ruth on anyone or anything that breached that doorway.

“Great. Hiding in a bathroom again.” Marigold looked around, and her eyes stopped on the small, frosted window above the toilet.

“He didn’t say anything about not opening the window.” Probably because he didn’t know about the window. “It’s two stories up and would be hard for someone to get to.”

She continued debating the reasons why she should or should not open it.

Curiosity won out. She set the bat on the counter, kept her phone tight in her grasp, and stepped up onto the toilet seat lid. She unlatched the lever and inch by inch slowly slid the window up.

Light from the mercury vapor bulb mounted on a pole in the alley spilled across the back end of her yard. Marigold leaned forward until her nose pressed against the screen and squinted her eyes to see. She instinctively jolted back when a silent shadow moved across the fence separating her property from her next-door neighbors. There was a slight shuffling noise, then nothing. She leaned her ear close to the screen. Silence hung in the air, and she held her breath in anticipation.

Her phone buzzed in her hand. She fumbled it and almost fell off the toilet seat. She tightened her grip on the phone, looked at the screen, and saw the wordSasquatch.

Sasquatch: Please meet me at the back door

Shame heated her cheeks at the pettiness of giving him such a snarky nickname, especially since he was always so freakin’ polite. His kindness made it really hard to maintain her standoffishness around him. It was beginning to feel like she was being mean to a sweet, handsome, yet very deadly puppy.

Marigold hopped off the toilet, unlocked the door, and dropped the bat on the bed before running downstairs. At the bottom, she slowed her steps and walked into the kitchen.

“Act casual,” she whispered, took a deep breath, and blew it out.

The dead bolt turned with aclunk,and as she reached for the doorknob, she tried to prepare herself for the onslaught of emotions she was bound to feel upon seeing him again. She turned the brass knob, pulled the door open, and there he stood, in all his masculine glory.

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