Page 45 of Crave Me

It’s probably what he’d planned to do long before I said anything.

“I figured as much.” I glance back toward my office, where pieces of the Mustang Bryant hit on the way in are strewn. “I just didn’t figure on all this.”

“You should have,” he tells me. He frowns when I look at him. “It’s what these fucking stalkers do, Wren.”

“He’s not stalking me, Curran. He called, and maybe texted—”

“And found you in Atlantic City, and destroyed a fucking dealership the same night you happened to be out with another guy.”

It’s the last thing he says that almost has me hurling. “You think he knows about Evan?”

“Seeing everything he did in here, that’s my guess.” He works his jaw. “And if I’m right, he could be watching you.”

“But why now? It’s been months. God, everything he’s done happened months apart.”

“But they still happened, Wren. Sociopaths are all about control. Look at the women you’ve taught self-defense to. It’s always the same story with these assholes. They latch onto their victims, get what they want from them, and don’t let them walk away.”

“I walked away,” I say, and I did, but my voice is softer than it should be. I know where he’s going with this.

“Yeah. Which put you more at risk.” He holds out the evidence bag to the cop who wanders over. “Let’s go back outside,” he says, his way of telling me and his buddy we’re not done talking.

The cold was tolerable when I was outside earlier, now, it’s like the temperature has dropped another twenty degrees. I should welcome the fresh air, but it doesn’t make me breathe easier as I choke down Curran’s words.

“You did the right thing leaving him,” he tells me, slipping out of his vinyl gloves and replacing them with his leather ones. “But in doing so, you took away control he never intended you to have and put yourself at risk. Perps like Bryant, those angry, volatile ones, can’t turn off the crazy. They don’t go away and they don’t give up,” he says, the severity in his tone giving away what he’s seen as a cop. “They may sub out their victims—”

“Stop calling me that,” I say, my voice shaking from too much anger and all too real fear. I glance back at the dealership. Jesus, how the hell did things get this far?

I hope Curran thinks my quaking voice is due to the cold, but I know better. “My point is, even though one woman may replace another, they never forget the one they feel wronged them. You leaving him, he won’t forget the insult, Wren. It’s how these twisted assholes think. There’s no rhyme or reason, just a sense of entitlement and what they think belongs to them.”

He looks out to the highway when we reach my truck like he’s expecting him to be here, but also because he’s trying to give me time to absorb what he’s telling me. “I found out a few weeks back that my boys at another precinct responded to a D.V. call at Bryant’s place in Ritten House Square. It’s the third time they’ve been there within the past year, and like before, his live-in girlfriend called 9-1-1 scared out of her mind. She wouldn’t tell them what he did, and wouldn’t press charges, just like the one before her. From what I heard, he threw her out a couple days ago. My guess is, it’s why he called you. He hasn’t forgotten you.”

The one who got away. He doesn’t say it, but the meaning is there. I thought Bryant had moved on, but it’s like Curran said, he only temporarily swapped me out for someone else.

“There’s more,” he says, his gaze sweeping over my sullen features. “Since the captain kicked him out, there’s been info linking him back to an organized crime boss in South Jersey. It’s enough to make us think he joined the force with other motives.”

“Holy shit,” I say.

“Yeah. You don’t just go to work for the mob because you didn’t make it as a cop, something else was going on. Our problem; there’s been nothing solid we can pin on him.” He shoots me a look. “And I’m not sure we have enough now. In talking to the security reps, they didn’t catch shit we can use— a shot of his face, the car he drove here, nothing. And think back to where he’s living, fucking Ritten House Square.”

“I know.” He always had money, always. But it takes way over six figures to live there. I swallow down a few curses and maybe some anger, too. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask.

“I couldn’t tell you because I didn’t know until a few weeks ago. I wasn’t in on the investigation.” He motions to the building. “But I sure as hell am in on it now. Except I should have known something, right? From you, from the start.”

“I know,” I mumble, wishing it wasn’t so hard to meet him square in the face. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but Curran, it was shit I wanted to forget.”

“Maybe. But he never did, Wren.” He waits, then asks, “Anything else you need to tell me?”

“Need” and “want” tend to be two different things. “No,” I respond.

He returns to watching me closely, expecting me to say more, but I don’t. “Okay,” he finally says. He gives me a one-armed hug. “You need anything, you call. He messes with you, you call. You don’t keep shit from those who love you and can protect you.”

It sounds good in theory, but sometimes to protect those you love, it’s like you have to stay quiet, no matter how much it kills you to trap that shit inside.

“Curran,” I say, halting him in place before he can turn away. “Look, if you’re going to Bryant’s house, stick to the damage. Don’t make it about me, okay?”

I don’t even get all the words out before he starts shaking his head in a way that shuts me up. “You don’t get a choice, Wren. Not this time.”

My stare falls to my feet. No, I don’t have a choice. Bryant made sure of that long ago when he fucked me over in more ways than one.

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