Page 11 of Life

“You gonna open it?” His voice jars me out of my quiet reverie.

The room suddenly feels cold, and I wrap my arms around myself, wishing I’d had the time to get dressed. “No.”

Eli walks over to me and puts a hand on my shoulder. “Looks like you have a secret admirer.”

I glare at him and step farther away from the box.

“Hey, it’s okay. I can leave. Come back another time to finish our chat.” He moves to grab his coat off the other stool’s chair.

Leave? God, no! He can’t leave me alone. Not until I know what’s in the package. What if it’s the roses, and I don’t have time to get away before he gets to me? My mind starts going a hundred miles a minute, flashes of the roses Daniel sent to Gigi, the dead ones he sent after he killed that girl in the yoga studio, the ones that arrived at the hospital after she’d been kidnapped.

Once again, my body is pulled into a pair of large solid arms. Eli rubs my back and head repeatedly. “Hey, hey, now. It’s okay. I’m right here. Jesus. You’re shaking.”

For long moments he holds me close, and I revel in his heat and security. Tommy used to hold me, and when he did, I felt pretty safe. The man was a cop, carried a gun. But for some reason, in Eli’s arms, it’s like Fort Knox. The man is huge and built to punish and capture bad guys. Nothing could get through this wall of muscle and man. Again, like his brother, only different. I have got to stop comparing the two men. It’s not healthy, nor is it going to help me get over Tommy’s death.

I take a few deep breaths and pull back. “I’m sorry. It’s just they could be roses and…” I shake my head and pull at my robe strings. “Can you open it, please?”

“Sure, babe. Not a problem. Have a seat on the stool.”

I follow his directions as though I’m a marionette being positioned by its puppet master.

He lifts the lid of the box and frowns. Every millisecond that goes by in which he doesn’t respond shoots arrows of anxiety into my chest. I clutch at the neck of my robe and rub my lips against the silken fabric. “What is it?” My voice is small and shakes, as though it is coming from the mouth of a child.

His expression turns into one of confusion when he pulls out a dull silver object. It’s long and looks almost like a metal…

Oh my fucking God.

I open my mouth and stare at the offending thing, not knowing what the hell I’m seeing, and yet knowing exactly what it means.

Eli turns to me, holding it up. “A baseball bat? Someone sent you a baseball bat.”

Those are the last words I hear when the entire room sways, ebbs, and then turns completely black.

“Maria, babe, you gotta wake up. Come on now,” a voice so similar to Tommy’s says as a cool cloth is placed over my forehead.

I blink a few times and see someone, a blurry shadow hovering over me. I reach up and wrap my hand around the front of his throat. “Don’t fucking touch me!” I grit through clenched teeth, still stuck in the clutches of fear.

“Maria, babe. It’s me. Eli. It’s Eli!” he calls, wrapping two giant paws around my wrist and removing my hand.

I sit up fast and then sway. “I’m, uh… I’m sorry.” I remove my hand. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

One of his eyebrows arches in query. “Hardly. Scared me? Yes. You dropped like a rock into shallow water. I barely caught you before you hit the tile.”

Slowly coming to, I rub at my head and then remember. The bat. Skittering back, I look around restlessly, trying to make sure everything looks as it should. “Has he been here?” I whisper as I jump off my bed and look under the lamps, in the closets, and around my bedroom. He’s the type who would break in and watch me for a while before he attacked. Plant bugs, or cameras, definitely listening devices. He was always good with electronics.

“Has who been here?”

“Him!” I groan and keep looking.

Eli grabs my arms and pushes me toward the bed where I’m forced to sit. “Let’s start with the basics. Who’s him?”

“Antonio! He’s back!” I grit my teeth together.

“And what’s his significance?”

Attempting to jump up, I’m thwarted by his much stronger hands.

“Let me up.” The three words come out as a demand, one I mean from the tips of my toes to the top of my hair.

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